


Make You Sweat

by SeeBeeStrellacott



Series: Make You Sweat [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: But Not Much, Cormoran doesn't like it, Cormoran gets hot and bothered, Dirty Dancing, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Robin gets sweaty, Robin starts dating, Some Plot, Twerking, just for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25731019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeBeeStrellacott/pseuds/SeeBeeStrellacott
Summary: After her divorce, Robin starts getting in shape.  Cormoran doesn't like it when she starts receiving a lot of male attention.
Relationships: Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Series: Make You Sweat [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921129
Comments: 139
Kudos: 107





	1. I'ma Do My Thang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a break from all the canon angsty stuff, so this is just for fun. Will probably include some angst though. I only have a vague idea of where this is going.

Strike shut down his computer and washed his coffee mug, closing down the office for the day. Robin was currently on an undercover assignment and hadn’t been into the office in a week. Strike only had two surveillance cases; one was a possibly neglectful nanny he trailed to the park on Tuesdays and Thursdays; the other was a housewife that had been “attending a Zumba class” every Saturday morning for the past month, and hadn’t gotten any fitter.

So most of his time was spent in the office, which seemed quiet, empty, and dark without Robin. Strike had taken to closing his inner office door. He found it easier to work when he wasn’t constantly reminded that he was alone in the office. But he kept himself busy, updating reports and payroll. He had even started organizing the “nutter drawer”, throwing out those letters he didn’t think could possibly be relevant in the future.

Today, at least, had gone by quickly enough. He had spent the morning at the park watching the nanny, so he had only been in the lonely office for a couple hours this afternoon. He didn’t mind the solitude on this afternoon, because he would be seeing Robin later.

Robin was undercover as a secretary at a law firm, where one of the partners was suspected of cooking the bills to overcharge clients. They needed copies of the files to prove that the charges to the client were inflated. Robin had tried taking pictures of the files with her phone, but the type was too difficult to read when enlarged and printed. She also couldn’t make copies at work because the Xerox machine required a code, and she had no reason to be copying those documents. 

The lawyer in question always worked a half-day on Friday, coming in after lunch. So the solution they had come up with was that Robin would take any documents to copy before she left on Thursday, pass them to Strike to duplicate, and then return them before the lawyer came in on Friday.

And so Strike was supposed to meet Robin this evening to collect the paperwork from her. He looked down at his shirt, wondering if it needed changing. It was a little wrinkled, but it would do. He thought of asking Robin to dinner, _to discuss cases of course_ , after exchanging the files. He was meeting her at an exercise class that she went to with Vanessa. He wondered how she would feel about going to a pub in her workout gear. His brain conjured an image of Robin in a Lycra body suit reminiscent of the 1980’s, sweat sliding down her neck and chest… He shook himself and locked the door to the office.

Strike arrived at the gym’s studio a little early. Robin wouldn’t be finished for another 10 minutes or so. It had started to rain and he didn’t bring an umbrella, so he decided to wait for her inside. Robin had never mentioned what kind of exercise class this was, and Strike had never asked. When he opened the door to the studio, he was hit with the thumping bass of loud music. 

Strike swallowed hard. Apparently this was one of those cardio dance classes. Robin was in the middle of the large group, grinding to Miley Cyrus’s “Do My Thang.” Strike had always thought the artist was a bit overrated, but as he watched Robin’s hips undulating to the beat, he conceded that he could see the appeal. Robin was wearing cropped teal leggings and a dark grey sleeveless top with an open twisted design at the back that was playing peekaboo with her pink sports bra. Strike couldn’t have told you if Vanessa was even present, let alone what she or anyone else was wearing; he couldn’t take his eyes off Robin.

The music changed tempo at the next verse, and Robin started a slow and exaggerated body roll. Strike had to remind himself to close his mouth. The music gradually picked up tempo again, and Robin’s movements quickened to keep up with the beat. On the line “everybody hands to the sky,” Robin pumped her fist in the air, then dropped into was unmistakably a twerk. Her back was to him, so Strike was able to watch her arse in all of its glory, bouncing up and down. 

He knew that he should look away, pull out his phone, or _something_ before he got caught in an embarrassing situation. He could feel blood rushing to his groin and sincerely hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was more turned on than he had been in a long time. He tried, but he couldn’t seem to look away from Robin. The least he could do was try to control the expression on his face. He aimed for casual interest in the dance, but he had a feeling there was a definite salacious quality to his smile.

Robin turned and saw him. She was currently in a wide-legged squat position, hips bumping in an extremely suggestive way. She grinned at him, not a missing a beat, easily keeping up with the group. She extended her arm and pointed at him, mouthing the lyrics, “Oh yeah I’m a southern belle, I told ya’ll once before I get crazier than hell.” She swished her ponytail in a circle above her head as she turned with her back to him once again.

 _Fuck, I’m in trouble…_ Strike thought to himself. His mind immediately started going through all the possibilities of what Robin would look like getting “crazier than hell”. His trousers were beginning to feel tight around the groin. With an extreme effort, he forced his eyes away from Robin and scanned the rest of the group.

Vanessa was next to Robin, similarly dressed in leggings and a sleeveless top. She was a much better dancer than Robin. In fact, now that he looked around, Strike saw that Robin wasn’t as practiced as the others. Her movements were less coordinated, and often half a beat behind everyone else’s. But that didn’t change how much he was enjoying watching her. 

Finally, the class came to an end. Robin picked up her jacket and water bottle and walked over to him. Her smile was slightly self-conscious, despite her earlier ostentatious display when she had pointed at him. Her eyes, on the other hand, were knowing as she pierced him with a penetrating look. He said hello to Vanessa, who had walked up behind Robin. 

Feeling he couldn’t leave Vanessa out of the invitation but hoping she would decline, Strike asked, “Would you ladies fancy some dinner?”

Vanessa smiled in a knowing way, making Strike wonder if his face still belied his casual demeanor. “No thanks, Oliver will be waiting for me.” She and Robin hugged, saying their goodbyes. The three stepped out into the rain that had lessened into a light drizzle.

“Hungry?” Strike asked.

“Oh, yes, I’m starving! I always work up quite the appetite,” Robin responded as she wiggled into her jacket. Strike watched beads of sweat mingle with rain and slide down her neck.

“Great,” his voice had cracked, so he cleared his throat before continuing, “I passed a pub just down the street earlier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Robin doing a more uncoordinated version of something along [these lines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sStDzCgKwQY).
> 
> I can just see Corm's face when his jaw hits the floor.


	2. Dinner (Date?)

“So, dancing, huh?” Strike asked as he and Robin sat at a table with their drinks.

“Van talked me into it a few weeks ago. It’s great exercise, and it’s a lot more fun than a boring treadmill. I’m not that good at it, but I’m enjoying it.” Robin picked up a menu and began perusing the salad options. 

Her averted eyes lent him courage as he said, “Bollocks, I thought you were really good.”

Robin leveled him with a look, “You don’t have to spare my feelings. Van’s much better than me. My timing is all off.”

“Well, I enjoyed it anyway,” Strike said. Remembering the suggestive nature of the dance, his face flushed, hoping Robin didn’t catch the double meaning. Though from the appreciative smile she gave him, he was more embarrassed by the implication than she was.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Robin asked as she struggled out of her jacket, which was sticking to her dampened skin. Strike reached out to help her, pulling on one of the sleeves for her. 

“I don’t stink too bad, do I?” Robin asked. “I feel disgusting.”

Strike’s eyes returned to the sweat still glistening on her neck and chest and looked away. He wondered what her neck would taste like, then quickly shook himself out of his reverie. “No, I think you smell fine.” His voice was slightly cracked and squeaky.

“So, what have you got?” Strike asked, changing the subject.

“Let’s order first, I’m starving.” Robin went up to the counter to place their order – a grilled chicken salad for her and fish and chips for Strike.

When she returned to the table, she explained, “Whittely placed me as kind of an assistant to all the secretaries, so I have access to all of the partners’ offices and files. I have a copy of my notes here.” Robin passed him her notebook and he perused it as she continued. “I haven’t found out if any of the other secretaries or assistants help Mueller with his records yet. None of them are very friendly. They all kind of ignore me when I talk to them.”

“Do you think they’re suspicious already?” Strike asked, looking concerned.

“No, just stressed and hateful I think. I need to channel your grumpiness,” Robin teased.

“Just scowl at everyone as if they’ve eaten the last of the chocolate biscuits. You’ve given me that face a few times,” he teased back.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have to, would I, if you wouldn’t eat all the food.” Robin tried to scowl at him.

Strike laughed and said, “Nope, sorry, not scary enough. You just have a happy face, I don’t know if it’s possible for you to look scary.”

Robin smiled uncertainly for a minute, trying to figure out if he was complimenting her. “Do you think Ilsa would be offended if I asked her to teach me her RBF?”

Strike stared at her dumbly, certain he had misheard her. Playing her words back in his mind, he could think of no other interpretation. “Sorry, RBF? What’s RBF?”

“Resting Bitch Face,” Robin replied flatly, taking a drink of her wine.

Strike burst into a loud guffaw. “Please let me be there when you ask her that,” he said through continued chuckles, wiping at his watering eyes.

“So is that a no?” Robin asked, giggling.

“Oh, no you should definitely ask her, just wait until I’m around to witness it. The death glare that she’ll give you – that’s what you should channel in the office.” Strike was still chuckling as he finished his pint. He stood up to get another pint, and indicating Robin’s nearly empty glass, he asked, “Want another?”

“No, I’m trying to cut back.”

When Strike returned with another pint for himself, he couldn’t resist teasing Robin a little more. “If you’re concerned about alcoholism, I have some great resources for you.”

“Ha. Ha. No, it kind of defeats the purpose of all the dancing and sweating if I go drink a thousand calories after.”

Strike, who didn’t think Robin’s body needed any improvements, said nothing. He wondered vaguely what had brought on this new desire to lose weight. There was no Matthew telling her she was fat. To be fair, Robin had never said that Matthew had ever called her fat, but Strike imagined _the twat_ was exactly the kind of man to make snide comments about Robin’s curvy figure. In any case, her divorce had been final for nearly three months now.

Maybe that was it. She was ready to embrace the single life. She was ready to date. A deep uneasiness spread through Strike. He thought back to the other people in her dance class. He didn’t remember seeing very many men, though he hadn’t really been looking. He had the sudden, irresistible desire to confirm her plans for the weekend. “So are you coming to curry night on Saturday?”

Robin looked at him uncertainly and said slowly, “Yeeaahh, why would I not?” Robin thought it was an odd question, and she wondered if maybe he planned on bringing a date. Though they had become much closer in the aftermath of the Chiswell case and her divorce, they still didn’t talk much about their personal lives.

“Just wondering. Anyway, did you manage to nick any files?”

“Oh right. Here you go.” She pulled a folder out of her bag. “These are a few samples of what Mueller has submitted to accounting. It would be great if we could get a hold of some bills that he’s sent to clients to compare. And his own personal records, of course. I don’t suppose we could get a hold of his bank records?”

“Probably not without doing something illegal. If we can get some evidence on him, we can always turn it over to the cops, let them dig into his finances.” Strike once again lamented his lack of resources and official status.

“Isn’t stealing files from a law office already illegal? ‘It’s a bit too late to be getting a conscience about it.’” Robin repeated what he had told her before, when she was nervous about illegally recording Geraint Winn.

Strike chuckled. “True. What would be really great is if we could get into his computer. Maybe I’ll talk to Spanner about it.”

They spent the rest of dinner discussing Strike’s cases, which weren’t that interesting. There was nothing to discuss on the Zumba case, as it was new and Saturday would be his first time following the housewife. He had collected a lot of photo and video of the nanny, but nothing yet that really indicated neglect.

Their food finished, the conversation turned uncharacteristically toward more personal matters. Strike tried to keep his face impassive as Robin explained that Vanessa was trying to get her hooked up with a man from their dance class.

“But I don’t know…” Robin said, a tad uneasily. “I don’t know if I’m ready to date yet.” She was looking at him as if daring him to say something.

 _But what… What do you want me to say?_ he thought.

“Do you like him?” Strike asked, feigning a casualness he certainly didn’t feel. He didn’t want to acknowledge how much he wanted Robin to say no.

“He seems very nice, and he’s very attractive. And he’s an excellent dancer.”

 _So that’s your type, is it?_ Strike thought, almost angrily.

“But I’ve been down that road before. Just because he’s handsome doesn’t mean he would be good to me,” Robin continued. “I’m more interested in being with someone that I share common interests with, someone that understands me, you know?” She was giving him that intense, meaningful look again.

Strike chose not to grasp her meaning, having been slightly insulted at being pegged as the opposite of the handsome dancer. He was certain she was giving him an opening, but he didn’t feel like taking it at the moment. He was never insecure about his looks; he knew he wasn’t that attractive, with his boxer’s profile, crooked nose, and surly expression. But he was suddenly feeling self-conscious about the little extra weight he was still carrying. He had lost a bit since Robin had first started working for him, but he was nowhere near as fit as he was in his army days.

Realizing he hadn’t responded, he heard himself say, “Well you’ll never find someone until you get out there.” Robin’s face fell a little and he inwardly cringed. He didn’t want her to go out with the handsome friendly dancer.

The lighthearted evening now ruined, they said their goodbyes. Robin would come pick up the files the next morning on her way to the law office.

Back in his flat, Strike got on his laptop and ordered an at-home gym set. He paid extra for the express delivery. It should arrive on Saturday.


	3. Curry Night

Strike dressed with care before going to the Herberts’ on Saturday. He had left the files for Robin on her desk Friday morning and hid in his flat until she was gone. He tried to reason with himself that he wouldn’t normally have been in the office at that time anyway, but he had still felt childish. 

After another night’s sleep to clear his head, he was feeling less wounded, helped along by the delivery of his gym set that afternoon. He refused to admit it to himself, but he was excited to see Robin. He had come to cherish these Saturday nights, spent with his closest friends. 

He loved how easily Robin fit into his world. But more than that, he loved how it had become her world as well. She and Ilsa had become fast friends, and could often be found with their heads together, giggling over something they refused to share with their men. They even had inside jokes. Just last week, Ilsa had given Robin a picture frame with a very attractive model wearing boxer briefs that most certainly were padded. The name “Anthony” was in the upper left hand corner. The women both roared with laughter, while the men shrugged at each other, nonplussed. Apparently Nick wasn’t in on the joke either.

But it wasn’t just Ilsa, Robin got on well with Nick, too. They would tease each other almost constantly. Nick would pretend to give her a hug, then attempt to put her in a head lock and muss up her hair, which she would dodge with a practiced ease. Strike wondered if she was like this with her brothers.

He wondered if she had told Ilsa about the dance classes. His brain started scheming, pondering how he might be able to talk her into a demonstration.

“Fuck!” He cut himself with his razor. Angrily dabbing at the large bead of blood, he focused his mind back on the task at hand, and away from Robin’s undulating body.

Strike got dressed and redressed several times. Feeling like a teenage girl, he muttered irritably about what a prat he was being as he put away all of the clothes he had donned before deeming them unsuitable. Finally, he settled on a pair of well-worn jeans that sat low on his hips, and always seemed to attract female attention, and a soft cotton Arsenal t-shirt. Casual, not trying too hard, but apparently touchable, if past experience was any indication. He looked in his mirror and gave himself a satisfied nod.

When he arrived at Nick and Ilsa’s, Robin and Ilsa were in the kitchen and already halfway down a bottle of wine.

He heard Ilsa’s voice, “No, lower your eyebrows a little. And your eyes are smiling. Maybe purse your lips.”

“How are my eyes smiling? And how do I make them stop?” Robin’s face was scrunched up in an unconvincing scowl.

“Hey! I thought I told you to wait for me!” Strike said as he entered the kitchen. “I wanted to see her expression when you asked about her Resting Bitch Face.”

“My what?!” Ilsa exclaimed.

Robin was frantically shaking her head behind Ilsa’s back, but it was too late. The words were already out of his mouth before Robin’s silent plea could stop him. Ilsa turned to Robin, her eyes widened in incredulity.

Robin froze like a deer in headlights. Obviously deflecting, she finally managed, “Erm, what?”

“You said you just wanted to know how I get Nick to give me my way all the time!” Ilsa’s indignation was fading fast, and both women starting laughing.

Robin swatted Strike’s arm and said, “Thanks a lot, you big telltale!”

Strike flinched back reflexively as Robin reached for his face, then leaned into her hand. “You’ve got blood here. Did you cut yourself?” She picked up a napkin and wiped it off.

Strike was looking steadily into her eyes. She had never touched him like this before. It was oddly intimate. “Yeah, I got distracted while I was shaving.”

She pinched both of his cheeks and said, “A small price to pay. I like you all smooth.”

While they were still teasing each other, Nick arrived with the food. When they had all sat at the table, Ilsa glanced at Strike out of the corner of her eye and then looked at Robin conspiratorially. With the air of someone opening a delicious box of chocolates, she said, “So tell me about this new bloke. The handsome one.”

Strike didn’t like how her tone had implied the existence of more than one. He also didn’t like how Ilsa seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

Robin chanced a look in Strike’s direction, who was staring determinedly at his food. “There’s not much to tell. We’ve talked a bit at class, but he hasn’t asked me out or anything.”

“If he does, would you say yes?” Ilsa was practically squirming in her seat. Strike held his breath, waiting for Robin’s answer.

“Erm, yeah, I guess so. I mean, it’s worth a shot.”

Strike stood up, under the pretense of getting another beer. As he sat back down, Robin nodded at him, and appeared to change the subject. “I ran into someone yesterday, at the law office.” She didn’t continue, so Strike gestured for her to go on. “It was Al. Al…Rokeby.” Her face flushed as she said this.

Strike looked at her, surprised.

“He was there as a client. Apparently that firm handles his business affairs. We’ve never met, obviously, so he didn’t know who I was…” She trailed off and didn’t continue. 

Ilsa caught on immediately, of course. “Did he ask you out?”

Robin didn’t answer as her face turned a darker shade of red. Her flush was all the answer needed. Her eyes hadn’t left Strike’s. 

_Are you asking permission? Or… what?_ he thought to himself.

“Did you say yes?” Ilsa said in hushed voice, astounded.

“I told him maybe,” Robin admitted, still looking at Strike. “I know he’s your brother, so – “

Strike interrupted her, “Half brother. You don’t need my permission, if that’s what you’re asking.” He didn’t like how aggressive his voice had sounded.

Robin’s chin jutted out in defiance. “Fine. Great. Maybe I’ll call him then.”

“Yeah, great, you should. You were just saying it would be nice to get close to one of the firm’s clients,” he returned her steely gaze.

Her face hardened. She could tell he was hurt by the thought of her going out with his brother, but that was no excuse. Before he cut her off, she had been about to say that she had no intention of going out will Al – there were some lines that you just don’t cross – but she didn’t appreciate the insinuation that she would stoop to those levels for a case.

A reckless stubbornness overcame her. “Do you think I should tell him who I am then?”

“I suppose you’ll have to eventually, if you think it’ll go anywhere.” Strike was still looking at her coldly. He was failing at hiding his jealousy, and he knew it. He just didn’t care at the moment.

“Fine,” Robin said again, “I’ll call him tomorrow then.”

“Great!” Strike said, with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Nick and Ilsa were watching the exchange with their mouths hanging open, completely dumbfounded. Finally, Nick cleared his throat and asked Strike what he thought of Arsenal’s prospects this year. Ilsa looked at Robin quizzically, but Robin ignored her, burying her face in her wine glass.

Robin left soon after dinner. Strike didn’t get up to walk her home, like he always did. Nick’s eyes darted between Strike and the door, silently asking his friend what he was playing at. But Strike sat unmoving. Robin had hesitated at the door, but seeing that her partner showed no signs of getting up, she harrumphed loudly and slammed the door.

Nick and Ilsa immediately rounded on Strike.

“Oggy, mate… what was that about?” Nick asked.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Strike shrugged, downing the last of his beer.

“Corm,” Ilsa said sternly, “you may be a smart man, but you are an idiot!” She turned and stomped up the stairs angrily, leaving Strike to stare morosely into his empty beer bottle.


	4. I Hate Myself for Loving You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this in advance. I don't know what to say, it just kind of happened.

Strike lay awake in bed as Saturday night slipped slowly into Sunday morning. The dim light outside was growing as dawn sped steadily closer. He wasn’t sure if he had ever actually fallen asleep. His mind kept turning over and over last night’s conversation with Robin. 

Why had he been so gruff with her? She had been flirting with him. The t-shirt – jeans combo had proved “touchable” indeed. He remembered the feel of Robin’s fingers on his cheeks. He wasn’t completely stupid, he knew that she was challenging him to make a move.

He wasn’t exactly sure why he was resisting. All night long he berated himself for the way he had spoken to her. And all night long he had argued with himself, defending his behavior. She and Ilsa had cornered him. He thought it unlikely that Robin had been in on it; it was much more plausible that she was an unwilling participant. But still, he felt more irritation towards Robin than he did towards Ilsa, however irrational that might be. 

_Why? What is wrong with you? Isn’t this what you want?_ It was the same questions all night long, with the same answers. _Because you’re a stubborn bastard. Because you don’t want to be tricked into asking her out. Because you’re fat and only have one leg. Because she can do better._

When the light streaming through his windows was no longer orange and pink, he decided that it was finally time to get out of bed. He made himself a coffee and a bacon sandwich and set to work unpacking his home gym. It was the compact kind that folded flat so he could store it against the wall or under his bed. It was a simple bench and weights. He had a hell of time getting it up the stairs to his flat, but eventually he had managed.

He sat in his chair and unpacked all of the pieces. He was not one of those men that thought they didn’t need to read the directions, but he struggled nonetheless. The instructions were confusing and there were many small pieces that didn’t seem to match anything. After a few hours and barely any progress, he decided he needed a break.

He took Robin’s notes down to his office to added them to the client’s file. Sitting at his desk, he made a list of things to do, even though it was really Robin’s case. Lists helped him clear his mind. Lists helped him focus. Lists made him feel in control. In his hard to read handwriting, he scratched out:

> Talk to Spanner about computer
> 
> Talk to Al about bills
> 
> Get computer?
> 
> Which secretary?

He was tapping his pen on his notepad, thinking, when he heard the office door open. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach on the stairs.

“Robin?” he called. Who else would be here today?

His face turned to stone when in walked…

“Charlotte.” He didn’t sound welcoming. He took in her figure. She had lost all of her baby weight, not that there had been much to begin with. She looked as toned and sleek as ever. One would never know that she had recently given birth to twins.

“How’s the family?” He asked insincerely and with more than a hint of derision.

She was giving him _that look_ , the one that held so much promise, the one that always weakened his defenses. 

“I’ve left Jago,” she said without preamble. “It’s you, Bluey, it’s always been you.” Her voice was soft and sultry. Her eyes pierced right through him. She approached him, her hips swaying. He stood, cutting off her advance.

“And what about your children? Did you leave them too?” His voice didn’t sound as acidic as he had meant it to. It irritated him that his words had come out soft and husky. How ironic, that he would speak so seductively to the woman he never wanted to see again, while he had spoken so caustically to the woman he wanted more than anything.

“Yes, I told you I would. We both know I wouldn’t be a good a mother.” She laughed her throaty laugh that always drove him wild. “I want you, Bluey. There’s nothing standing in our way now.” She stepped closer to him and slid her hand up his arm. He didn’t flinch away.

“Does your _husband_ know you left him? Are the babies even his?” Anger was simmering below the surface. Strike didn’t want to feel anything for this temptress. He also didn’t want to be alone. And he really didn’t want Robin to date his brother.

Strike saw Charlotte’s reaction before she even moved. He expected some kind of violent outburst, it happened in most conversations with her. He caught her wrist midair as she tried to slap him. This surprised her. He never fought back like this, never. He would always take the easy blows, only dodging when she had thrown something.

Charlotte saw desire and hatred simmering behind his eyes. The two emotions warred with each other, neither seeming to gain the higher ground. 

Strike imagined Robin on the phone with Al, confirming dinner plans. His baser self took control as he pulled Charlotte roughly to him and kissed her. He thought of Joan Jett’s song, “I Hate Myself for Loving You.” _That about sums it up_ , he thought. 

Charlotte melted into him, though not gently. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled hard, causing him to gasp. He snarled has he crushed his lips to hers again, pushing her back onto the desk.

She swiped at the desk, scattering its contents across the floor. Her hands went to his belt, unbuckling it. 

***

Robin sat in bed Sunday morning, toying with her phone. She hated the way she and Cormoran had left things last night. She didn’t want to go out with Al, or the bloke from dance class. She had told Ilsa not to push him. She was afraid something like this would happen. Ilsa was insistent that Cormoran just need a little convincing. 

“Make him jealous, and he’ll be professing his undying love for you in no time,” she had said.

But Robin didn’t like to play games. She had started laying the groundwork, flirting with him here and there. She thought he was starting to come around. She smiled, remembering his face when he had met her at her dance class. He had definitely enjoyed the show. So why was he acting like a petulant child?

Was it because she had said that Ethan was handsome? That seemed to be where it all started. Didn’t he realize that he was also handsome? Albeit in a different way, but he was attractive nonetheless. He had dated super models for god’s sake. She found it hard to believe that he could be so insecure.

Robin didn’t want to be cross with him. She valued his friendship. She decided that she should just apologize. She picked up her phone to call him, but changed her mind. This should really be done in person. 

After dressing quickly, she stopped and bought a bottle of his favorite scotch as a peace offering, then set off for Denmark Street.

***

Robin noticed that the office door was slightly ajar. She smiled and rolled her eyes. _Don’t you ever take a day off?_ she silently admonished him. 

When she stepped inside, she could hear muffled noises coming from his inner office. It sounded like a struggle of some kind. Hoping that he hadn’t fallen and hurt himself, Robin rushed to his door.

She pulled up short, eyes wide in horror. Strike was locked in a passionate embrace with a woman, whose hands were at his belt.

Robin stood frozen in shock. The air left her lungs in a heavy gush, as if she had been punched in the stomach. The bottle of whisky fell from her fingers and landed with a thud, where it rolled a few feet. Strike’s head shot up at the sound, and his face fell as he saw Robin backing out of the door with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” Robin gasped as she turned and practically ran out of the building.

Strike called after her and tried to give chase, belt flapping and jeans unbuttoned, but of course she was too fast for him.

“Fuck!” he shouted angrily as he stumbled on the stairs. He gave up. She would be long gone by the time he got to the bottom. 

With a heavy sigh, he climbed the stairs back to his office. He walked right past Charlotte, not even sparing her a second glance. He picked up the bottle of whisky and walked determinedly to the door.

“Bluey –“ Charlotte began, be he cut her off.

“Go home, Charlotte.” He left her standing in the office as he climbed the stairs to his flat, where he locked the door.

***

As Robin rushed down the street, hardly seeing where she was going, she realized that she had recognized the woman. It was his ex. Charlotte.

With numb fingers, she pulled out her mobile and called Al.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally had Robin walking in on a VERY different scene, but that was just too dark.


	5. Games

Robin didn’t need any help managing an RBF on Monday. She knew she had no right to be angry. She had no claims on Strike’s private life. She tried to convince herself that she was only angry because of who the woman was. Charlotte was married; surely she had the right to be angry about him having an affair with a married woman? Especially given how her own marriage had ended… But in truth, Robin knew that she would have been angry if she had seen him with any woman.

What was his problem? She didn’t think it was that he didn’t want her. She could see it in his eyes that he did. Maybe he was concerned about their business. And he was right, it was probably stupid to get involved…

But they were such good friends. Surely they could handle working together and being in a relationship?

Since she was being honest with herself, she figured she might as well do it properly, and addressed the thought that was weighing foremost on her mind. _I practically threw him into her arms_ , Robin thought miserably. She knew that if she hadn’t said she was going to date his brother, he never would have ended up in the arms of another woman.

Maybe she could still reverse the damage. He had chased after her, after all… She would go back to being his friend, even if he was with Charlotte now. She could be at least that strong…for him…for their friendship. Robin hated herself for thinking that it probably wouldn’t last with Charlotte anyway. It hadn’t worked between them how many times before? This time would be no different. And when it did fall apart, she would be there for him.

Perhaps she should trust Ilsa’s judgement. She had known Strike for much longer. Maybe him seeing her going out with other men would be the impetus he needed to break it off with Charlotte. Still, Robin couldn’t help remembering that all of their conversations lately had turned south at the mention of her dating other men. And hadn’t he watched her get married without saying anything? _But we’re closer now…_

Feeling incredibly guilty, she pulled out her phone and texted Al back, confirming their date for Friday.

***

Strike had thought about calling Robin on Sunday, but decided against it. He didn’t know what he would say to her if he did. “Sorry you caught me with my tongue down someone’s throat?” No, that just wouldn’t do. That conversation should really be done in person. He knew where it would lead, and there are some things that shouldn’t be said over the phone.

Robin had come to see him. With a present. So she wasn’t mad at him. Or at least she _hadn’t_ been. 

He had never regretted kissing Charlotte more than he had that afternoon. 

Maybe if he texted her? But he still couldn’t think of what to say.

***

Strike was surprised to hear the office door opening on Wednesday afternoon. His mouth was full of cheese and pickle sandwich, so he called out a muffled, “Rob’n?” though he feared it would be Charlotte again. She had been texting and calling him all week. He hadn’t answered any of it.

He was surprised to see Ilsa walk in his door.

“Ilsa! What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” she answered wryly. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this –“ Ilsa started, but Strike cut her off.

“No, I don’t. I’ve told you before, you need to stop your meddling. I’m perfectly aware what you think I should do.” His tone was clear that he was in no mood to have this same conservation _again_.

“No, Corm you don’t understand.” She hesitated, apparently weighing her words. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. I promised I wouldn’t, but I really think you should know. You need to stop playing games with Robin.”

“Ilsa,” he started angrily, “I’m not the one playing games. Who was it that brought up her dating on Saturday?” He gave her a stern look.

He was about to continue his argument but she spoke over him. “Robin’s going out with Al on Friday.”

Strike’s words died on his tongue and his breath caught in his throat.

“She didn’t want me to tell you. The good news is, she’s not really that interested in Al. The bad news is, she’s decided to play the fucking field, like you fucking told her to! What the fuck happened between the two of you?” 

The fight leaked out of Strike immediately. He confessed that Robin had walked in on his moment of weakness with Charlotte.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “If you hadn’t started – “

“Don’t you blame this on me,” she told him, though more softly than before. “You’re the one that acted like a right prick.”

Strike sighed and scrubbed a large hand over his forehead. “What do I do now?”

“Nothing,” Ilsa said with a shrug.

“What do you mean _nothing_?” he asked incredulously.

“You go back to being her friend, being supportive. She was with the same twat for a decade. Let her have some fun.”

“Are you fucking crazy? I’m supposed to smile and nod while she goes and…” Strike couldn’t bear to finish his sentence.

“She won’t,” Ilsa said with certainty. “She’s just as crazy about you as you are about her. She’ll realize she doesn’t really want to be with these other blokes, or they’ll break her heart. Either way, she’s going to need a friend, a confidante, and a shoulder to cry on. I’ve got the friend part covered, but if I were you, I’d make sure it’s your shoulder she turns to.”

Strike grunted in response, thinking. He had never openly admitted his feelings about Robin to Ilsa, though he was well aware that she knew. She constantly nagged him about making a move. He never directly contradicted her, a tacit acknowledgement of his true feelings. But maybe Robin had confided in their mutual friend. Maybe Ilsa was right.

“I’ll leave you to think it over,” she said, patting his knee and getting up. “Oh, and Corm? I love you, but if you hurt Robin, I _will_ kick you in the balls.” She smiled sweetly at him as she turned and walked towards the door.

Strike rolled his eyes fondly. “Goodbye, Ils.”

***

Wednesday evening, Robin was snuggled in bed reading a book when her phone pinged. Picking it up, she saw that it was a text from Strike.

**C: Still on for dinner tomorrow?**

Robin smiled as she texted back.

**R: Of course. You know I’ll be starving.**

Next came a picture. It was Strike’s hand wrapped around a glass of amber liquid. The glass was resting on the arm of his chair. Robin wondered if he knew that his boxer shorts were just visible in the picture.

**C: Thanks for the whisky. It’s my favorite, you know. x**

Robin stared at her phone, her heart accelerating. He never added kisses to the end of his texts. _Ever_.

She started typing several responses, then quickly deleted each one. 

**C: I can see you typing 😜**

**R: 🙄**

**R: you’re welcome 😘**

**C: 😉**

Strike smiled as he swilled his whisky, wondering what Robin would be dancing to tomorrow.


	6. Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Robin's turn to be caught awkwardly staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The specific dance bits I'm referring to are at 0:38 and 0:50 - 1:00 in [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4m1EFMoRFvY) video.
> 
> Can we all agree that this is one of the sexiest music videos ever made?

Strike arrived at the gym’s studio early once again, but not too early. He wanted to watch Robin dancing, but didn’t want to come off as creepy. He felt better prepared this time, knowing what he was walking into. He wouldn’t be caught off-guard by Robin’s jiggling arse this time.

But when he saw her, he still couldn’t stop himself from staring. She was wearing tight leggings again and a flowy vest top. It was lower cut in the front, showing the outline of her sports bra and a fair bit of cleavage. Her top said “GRLPWR”.

Strike couldn’t have pinpointed exactly when Spandex came back into fashion, but he was certainly glad that it did. He was enjoying the way Robin’s leggings hugged her curves. It left just enough to the imagination to be sexy as hell.

Today’s dance was to Beyoncé’s “Run the World.” _Yes, you certainly do_ , Strike agreed when Robin saw him and smiled. He was just as mesmerized by her body as he had been last week. He would have gladly chopped off his other leg right then and there if she had asked him to. 

The song seemed to be some kind of Beyoncé mashup, as it morphed into “Single Ladies.” Robin bounced around in a slightly uncoordinated but still sexy rendition of the iconic dance. When she slapped her arse, Strike flinched as if she had slapped _him_ , but in a most _delicious_ way. 

_Jesus, get a grip on yourself,_ he admonished. He thought he could handle this with more poise than last week, but apparently there was just no preparing for what Robin did to him in those leggings, flouncing around like that. He muttered a “Holy fuck!”, inaudible over the loud music, when she dropped into the wide-legged hip circling move, followed by a drop to the floor and body roll back to standing. He could feel a tightening in his trousers again.

She turned and locked eyes with him on the line “If you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it.” She smiled and winked at him.

For one wild moment, Strike considered running straight into a jeweler and buying a ring. The next line in the song seemed to reach him from far away. Somehow he heard it in Robin’s voice instead of Beyoncé’s. “Don’t be mad once you see that he want it.” 

_No_ , Strike thought, _I definitely can’t blame any man for wanting you_. 

After the class was finished, a tall attractive man approached Robin. Strike practically growled, then remembered Ilsa’s advice of the previous afternoon. When Robin pointed over to him, Strike smiled back at her and waved, determined to play the supportive friend. Leaving the attractive man behind, Robin approached and began struggling into her jacket. Strike held it for her so she didn’t have to chase the other sleeve. _That’s something friends do, right?_

***

Resisting the urge to ask about the tall attractive fellow dancer, Strike asked, “So did you get anything good this week?” They took their drinks from the bar and found a table at the back of the pub.

Robin passed over her notes and some other papers. “Not much, just some more accounting reports. Although I think I’m making some headway with Mueller’s main secretary. She likes to gossip, so I just starting griping about my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Strike aimed for casual interest, and was pleased that his voice didn’t betray him.

“Just making stuff up to have something to gripe about. I had an idea, though. You mentioned talking to Spanner about the computer. I don’t think I could sneak a computer out, but maybe we could bring Spanner in one day. He could pretend to be my boyfriend. It wouldn’t seem too odd, because I’ve already laid the groundwork.”

“That’s good thinking,” Strike said, impressed. “I’ll ask him to curry night and we can talk to him about it then.”

Suddenly looking apprehensive, Robin said, “Also, I talked to Al this week.”

“Oh?” Strike was sure he didn’t achieve nonchalance this time. He waited with bated breath for Robin to continue, wondering if she were about to confess to the date he knew was happening tomorrow evening. 

“Yeah, I asked him if he had any of his bills from the law firm that we could look at. Mueller has actually done some work for him. He said he would go through his files and get back to me.”

“Great, that’ll be really helpful.” There was a slight edge to his voice, and he could see that Robin caught it, though both chose to ignore it.

“What are you having, I’ll go put our order in,” he said, hoping to move the conversation on from such uncomfortable topics.

When he returned, they slowly transitioned back into their usual friendly banter, Strike saying that Robin would have to teach him that arse-drop-body-roll move. 

“Saturday,” she promised, laughing. “Ilsa wants me to teach her how to twerk anyway.”

“Can you teach me that one too?” Strike said, wiggling his eyebrows. “I might need to break it out next time I’m at the club.”

Robin laughed again, imaging Strike dancing in a club. “Okay, but what am I getting out of this deal?”

“You get the pleasure of watching my arse jiggling.” Strike winked at her over his pint glass. He grinned as Robin’s cheeks reddened. “As long as you promise there’ll be no video evidence.”

Robin giggled, “Sorry, afraid I can’t promise that.”

Their food arrived, another salad for Robin and grilled salmon and vegetables for Strike. Robin raised her eyebrows as he tucked in to his food.

“What?” he said around a mouthful of broccoli.

Robin smirked at him. “Nothing. It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat a vegetable that wasn’t a potato.”

“I just learned recently, maybe you already knew, but apparently vegetables are good for you,” Strike said, spearing a bite of fish.

Robin nodded in mock surprise. She noticed that he was also still on his first pint, and suppressed a grin.

***

The files weren’t on her desk Friday morning, and Strike wasn’t in the office yet. Wondering if he had simply forgotten to leave them for her, which wasn’t like him, she climbed the stairs to his flat. She could hear loud music coming from the other side of his door. It was Eminem’s “8 Mile.”

Robin hesitated. _Could he have a woman in there?_ Not just any woman…Charlotte. _Is “8 Mile” a_ – she didn’t even want to think it – _sex song?_

Robin reasoned that he knew she would be coming for the files this morning, so surely not. Neither of them had mentioned their love lives since she had walked in on him kissing the dark haired beauty on Sunday. She had no idea if he was really seeing Charlotte or not. Hoping she wasn’t about to intrude on an even more devastating scene, she knocked on the door. No answer. She turned the knob. It was unlocked. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the door open and popped her head inside. “Cormoran?”

Robin’s heart stopped as she took in the sight before her.

***

Strike deliberately “forgot” to put Robin’s files on her desk. He wanted her to have to come up to his flat. _Turnabout’s fair play_ , he had rationalized with himself. Looking at his watch, he estimated that Robin was probably close. He switched out the ten kilogram dumbbells he was using for the twenty kilogram ones and waited for Robin to arrive.

***

Robin saw Strike sitting astride a weight bench, lifting two dumbbells above his head. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of gym shorts. Sweat was sliding down his chest and arms in beads. The copious hair spread across his torso looked damp. As he finished his set, Robin caught a glimpse of the hair under his arms as well. She watched his muscles bunch and flex as he lifted the heavy weights, face scrunched with the effort and grunting.

Robin’s mind had gone completely blank. Her eyes were following the path of a droplet of sweat that was rolling down his abdomen, disappearing into his waistband. She absently licked her lips. Her eyes continued their downward trajectory, landing on his prosthesis poking out of his shorts. She had never thought of prosthetic limbs as sexy before, but damned if she didn’t now.

Strike set his weights aside and stood up. He seemed larger than usual somehow, filling the room. He smiled at her as he turned down his music, looking smug. He had seen her ogling him.

Robin resisted the urge to trace her fingers over his biceps. Strike picked up a towel and wiped at his face and neck, giving her the chance to gawk at him for a few more seconds. He looked excessively masculine, with his broad shoulders, his ill-defined but still prominent pecs, and the heavy shadow on his jaw indicating he had not yet shaved.

Robin opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. On her third attempt, she finally found her voice. “I never thought of you as the rap type,” she said, pointing to his speaker.

“I’m not, mostly. But Eminem’s okay. His lyrics are pretty clever. It’s not all about bangin’ hoes and poppin’ caps.”

Robin failed to suppress her giggle at hearing Strike using the American slang.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You, er…” Robin had momentarily forgotten why she had come up to his flat. “You forgot to leave the files for me downstairs.”

“Oh right. Here you are.” He reached past her and grabbed the folder from his table. Robin inhaled his manly scent. 

She was still staring at him in a daze when he asked, “Was there anything else?” Strike gave her a lopsided grin that, combined with his twinkling eyes, made her feel fully exposed.

“What? No. I didn’t know you were into working out.” She nodded at his equipment.

Strike patted his somewhat flabby belly and said, “I’ve gotta keep up my figure somehow. This body isn’t built on beer alone.”

“Could have fooled me,” Robin responded with a cheeky grin. “I’ve been thinking I need to add a little strength training to my routine. I don’t know that dance once a week is really enough to get in shape, ya know? Maybe we could train together. We could be each other’s accountability buddies.”

“Good idea,” Strike said. Then, looking around his tiny living room, said, “But I don’t have a lot of room here.”

“We can trade off. I don’t have any equipment like this at home. So we could do weights here and other stuff at my flat.”

“What kind of other stuff?” Strike asked, with the merest flick of his eyebrows. Robin blushed at his emphasis on “other stuff,” causing him to grin. He loved that he had sent her mind to the gutter.

“You just worry about your half, and I’ll worry about mine,” she answered dryly, causing his grin to widen.

Robin looked at her watch, realizing she was going to be late if she didn’t get a move on. “Let me know when you’re…available,” Robin said hesitantly, unsure of how often he would be seeing Charlotte. The air in Strike’s flat seemed to turn cold as Robin realized why he must suddenly be interested in getting in shape.

“My schedule’s wide open,” Strike said, still with a big grin, unaware of Robin’s sudden discomfort. 

Robin said goodbye and left with a small wave as Strike returned to his bench and weights.


	7. Twerking Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one includes a little something for all you Nick fans out there.

When Strike arrived at Nick and Ilsa’s on Saturday night, it was to find Robin and Spanner on the sofa next to each other, talking over Spanner’s laptop. Strike frowned at their proximity, and continued on to the kitchen after saying hello. His scowl deepened when he passed by, as Spanner twitched his leg, “accidentally” nudging Robin’s. Consequently, the kiss he gave to Ilsa was less than convivial.

Ilsa rolled her eyes at him and whispered, “Oh, calm down.”

“Has she said anything?” Strike asked.

Ilsa, understanding what he was truly concerned about, said, “No, I was just asking her about it when Spanner came in. If she tells me anything I think you need to know, I’ll pass it on, but remember – she’s my friend too. If I’m sworn to secrecy, then I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Yeah, because that’s always stopped you in the past,” Strike retorted.

Ilsa gave him a sardonic smile and handed him a beer. Strike rejoined Robin and Spanner in the living room. “Have it all worked out already?” he asked loudly, announcing his entrance. 

Robin jumped up from the sofa and gestured to her seat. “Here, let Spanner show you what he’s got.”

As Robin moved to the end of the sofa and Strike sat between them, he noticed that Spanner looked distinctly disappointed in this new arrangement.

Spanner explained, “I was just showing Robin. I can install this spyware on Mueller’s computer. It will allow me to access his screen and files at any time. He can still use his computer while I’m logged on, so he should be none the wiser. I can program the software to delete itself after a certain amount of time. Only a technical wizard such as myself would ever know it was there.” He winked at Robin.

“And I filled him in on the plan to act as my boyfriend,” Robin said. 

“It’s a difficult job, but someone’s got to do it,” Spanner said, winking at Robin again. Strike had the sudden urge to punch the smaller man in the ribs.

“He’s going to come and have lunch with me. Mueller usually takes his time at lunch, so it should give us plenty of time to get it installed,” Robin finished.

They heard the front door opening and Robin jumped up. “Food’s here!” and she ran to help Nick with the bags. Out of the corner of his eye, Strike saw Spanner’s gaze following Robin’s retreating backside.

Strike followed Robin and Nick to the kitchen and sat at the table, leaving an empty chair between himself and Ilsa. Spanner was pulling a chair out, apparently for Robin, though she pretended not to notice as she sat between Ilsa and Strike. Strike resisted the urge to sneer at Spanner, but only just. They still needed his help after all. 

Nick noticed that Spanner’s eyes were trained on the opening of Robin’s blouse. He kicked his brother under the table and glared at him, before turning to his wife to ask how her cases were going. 

Robin was overly familiar with Strike throughout dinner, absently touching his arm, piling food onto his plate, fetching him more beer. Strike happily kept up the farce, even going so far as to rest his arm on the back of Robin’s chair, and occasionally touching her upper arm with his fingertips. When Robin’s attention was diverted elsewhere, Strike leveled Spanner with his steady gaze, his look a clear warning. Spanner’s eyes narrowed into a squint, but far from being deterred, he recommitted himself to engaging Robin in conversation, causing Nick to kick him once more.

After dinner, they moved back to the living room. Robin hesitated in the kitchen under pretense of getting more wine. Strike was first to enter the living room, and Robin was pleased to see that he had sat himself in the middle of the sofa once more. Spanner was evidently trying to work out how he could still manage to sit close to Robin. Robin gratefully plopped down next to Strike, who stretched his arm out along the sofa behind her. Throwing caution to the wind, Robin leaned into his side. Spanner’s face fell as he finally recognized defeat and took an arm chair with bad grace.

Spanner stayed for only a short while after that, though he still winked at Robin on his way out. As soon as he was out of the door, Robin leaned away from Strike. “Sorry about that. Thanks, though,” she said.

“Anytime,” Strike said, reluctantly removing his arm from behind her.

“Bloody prat’s always liked the ones that play hard to get. But don’t worry love,” Nick said, “I’ll remind him that if he tries anything with you, I’ll kick his arse.” Robin smiled appreciatively.

“Alright, I’m ready for my twerking lessons!” Ilsa announced, breaking the tension.

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that yet,” Robin laughed.

“You do it all the time at class!” Ilsa protested.

“That’s…different,” Robin finished feebly, with half a glance toward Strike.

“We just need some liquid courage then,” Ilsa said as she disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses. After a round of shots, Robin turned on a random hip hop station on her phone.

“Right, so the thing about twerking is that it’s not really about your bum. The movement mainly comes from your lower back and legs. So you’re going to spread your legs like this and bend your knees. Then flex your lower back to bring your hips bones up, then drop it back down. And kind of straighten and bend your knees as you go. Like this. Up, and down. Pop it back up, then down.” Robin was in front of them, narrating as she demonstrated.

Ilsa nodded at Strike, then inclined her head toward Robin’s backside and wiggled her eyebrows. Strike glared at her, his eyes wide and mouth pinched.

“Once you get the hang of that,” Robin was still explaining, “you can speed it up a little, like this.” She moved to the tempo of the music, her arse bouncing in the most tantalizing way. “You’ll feel it in your legs pretty quick. It’s a really good work out, actually.”

“I’m not sure I can do my knee like that,” Strike said, as he struggled to get far enough into a squat position.

“Well, just do it more upright then,” Robin said. “Or I can show you some variations on the floor, if you like.”

“God, no!” Robin looked slightly alarmed at his vehement response. Strike, recovering quickly, continued jokingly, “I’d probably never get back up again.” There was currently no traitorous tightening of his trousers, a condition he was certain he couldn’t maintain if Robin started grinding on the floor.

Robin went to help Ilsa. She put her hands on Ilsa’s hip bones to help show her how to pop them up and down.

“How am I doing?” Nick asked.

“Erm…great,” Robin said in a bad attempt at lying, and an even worse attempt at covering her giggle.

Ilsa let out a loud cackle of laughter at her husband, who was thrusting his hips backward and forward in a move that certainly didn’t look like dancing. Robin went to help him as she did with Ilsa, by helping guide his hip bones. 

As Ilsa was getting the hang of it and Nick was distracted by his wife’s arse, Robin finally came to check on how Strike was doing. She didn’t grab his hips as she had with their other two friends, but instead gave him another demonstration. He was still struggling with the modified stance, so she had no choice but to get more hands on. Standing behind him, she grasped his hips, with her thumbs finding the back of his hip bones and her fingers wrapped around to the front. 

Strike sucked in a breath and twitched. Faking a laugh, he muttered, “Sorry, ticklish.”

Robin’s hands were abruptly removed from their intimate position as her phone rang. Seeing who it was, her cheeks flushed and she answered. 

“Hi,” she said in a soft, girlish voice. Hurrying out of the room, they heard her saying, “Yeah, I did too.”

Strike’s face fell. He poured himself another shot of tequila and announced, “I’m going out for a fag.”

Robin was in the back garden, so Strike let himself out the front door. Not completely unrelated to the conversation he imagined Robin was having at the moment, he had the sudden urge to text Charlotte. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through her recent messages.

**I miss you Bluey.**

**I’d like to see you again.**

**Can we just talk?**

**Yes, they’re his. And yes, he knows. I’ve told him I want a divorce.**

**I don’t blame you for being angry. I know I’ve behaved…badly in the past.**

**But all that’s over now. I’m done playing games.**

**I just want a life with you. I want the life we planned.**

**I still love you, Bluey.**

**I’m staying at the Club Quarters Hotel, if you change your mind. I’ll be waiting.**

Strike hadn’t answered any these texts, but he knew that didn’t matter. He knew that Charlotte wouldn’t take his silence as a definite no. The possibility of something between them…it was never off the table, at least not in her mind. And if Strike was being honest with himself, it wasn’t in his mind either, or he would have blocked her number a long time ago. How easy it would be to call her, to show up at her hotel. The intimacy he craved was so close… He only had to press a few a buttons…

Conscious of the alcohol that was certain to impair his judgement, he typed a response.


	8. Secrets

The tequila had flowed a little too steadily the rest of the evening. Robin, who had already had two glasses of wine, was quite drunk by the time she was ready to leave. She stumbled in the hall as she was putting on her jacket. She dropped her purse, which leaked a few of its contents across the floor. As she was bending to pick them up, she over balanced and nearly face planted into the door. Strike caught her by the waist and helped pull her upright. Robin fell against him, laughing.

Strike, who was not nearly as drunk, picked up the rest of her things. “Here, let me call you a cab,” he said, pulling out his phone. There was a text notification on his screen. Robin saw that it was from Charlotte, thought she couldn’t read what it said.

“She’s veeeeery beau’ful,” Robin said. Then, comprehending what Strike had said, continued, “I don’ wanna cab. It’s spensive! You can jus’ walk me.”

“I’m not sure you _can_ walk,” Strike laughed.

“Course! ‘Course I can! I’m not tha’ drunk!” Robin insisted. “Look!” She proceeded to spread her arms and touch her index fingers to her nose in impersonation of a sobriety test. Despite the fact that she missed her nose and nearly poked herself in the eye, she said boisterously, “See? I’m fine! Le’s walk!”

Strike shook his head in fond exasperation of her stubbornness and followed her out the door. He caught her again when she stumbled on the stairs. After righting her, he looped her arm through his and proceeded to help her down the street. Robin leaned on him heavily, grasping his arm with both of hers.

“Are you tryin’ ta flirt with me Corm’ran Strike?” She exaggerated the “k” on his name, then laughed at her own joke.

“Just being a gentleman,” Strike chuckled as he pulled her along, trying to keep her from stumbling and taking them both down.

“’Course you are! Yer always a gentleman.” Robin suddenly stopped walking and looked up at him, serious. “Corm’ran? I think I had too mush tequila.”

Strike laughed and nodded at her and mouthed, “Yeah!” before guiding her forward once more. Robin continued, “It always ge’s me in trouble! Martin calls it _truth serum_ ‘cos I start spillin’ secrets!”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” Strike asked, amused. He wondered if he should feel guilty for encouraging her. He supposed that would depend on what kind of secrets she spilled.

“Nope!” Robin said, making the “p” pop. “Can’t tell you! Tha’s why they’re secrets.”

“That’s why what’s secret?”

“Okay, okay, here’s one – I haven’ had sex in a very long time!” Robin stage whispered the word “sex”. Strike thought it was adorable how her face scrunched, as if she were saying a dirty word.

He laughed and stage whispered back, “I haven’t either,” causing Robin to giggle.

“No? I’d’ve thought you’d’ve seen Charlotte by now. She’s very pretty. Is that where you’re goin’ now? You can just drop me here, I can make it home alright.” Robin stumbled into him, leaning heavily on his arm again.

Strike rolled his eyes as they continued towards the tube station. “No, I don’t think you can. And no, I haven’t seen her.” Robin didn’t notice that he hadn’t fully answered her question. He wasn’t entirely sure of the answer himself.

“It’s okay, if you wanna see her. She’s very pretty. I don’ like it, but I understand a man has needs,” Robin told him sagely, her seriousness making him snort in amusement. “I could do that… but I’m not as pretty as her. I don’ blame you for wantin' her instead.”

Strike was alarmed at the direction the conversation was taking. He struggled to figure out how to answer her, if at all. _You have no idea how badly I want you to “take care of my needs.”_ Now, when it was likely she wouldn’t remember any of this anyway, was not the time for those kinds of confessions.

Robin suddenly stopped walking. She looked down at her body and whined, “I mean look at me! Imma mess! Who would want me? My own husband didn’t even want me!” Her arms were now flapping about wildly, drawing the attention of passersby.

Strike’s amusement turned to concern and sympathy as Robin bared all of her insecurities. He placed his hands on her upper arms, stilling her flailing. “Robin, look at me. You’re very beautiful, and smart, and kind, and a bloody good dancer,” he said with a smirk. “Any man would be lucky to have you. Now come on, let’s get you home.”

Robin nodded weakly at him, her eyes watery. Strike turned to continue down the street, but Robin didn’t seem to want to let go of him. She clutched at his chest clumsily, so he put an arm around her shoulders, allowing her to lean into him. She followed meekly as he led her forward. As she rested her head against his chest, Strike could have sworn that she was sniffing his shirt.

Thankfully the escalator down to the tube was working. Strike wasn’t sure he could help Robin down that many stairs without both of them ending up rolling down. Strike went through the ticket gate, heard Robin squeak, and turned just in time to catch her as she fell backwards. Somehow, she had ended up tangled in the gate. He caught her under the arms as she looked up at him in shock, then she burst into a fit of giggles. Strike struggled to keep Robin upright while simultaneously freeing her leg from the gate. She, of course, was no help at all.

Much as he usually enjoyed happy, talkative, drunk Robin, this version was a lot to handle. After finally getting her standing upright, Robin wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned into him once more. Strike had half a mind to throw her over his shoulder in order to avoid more mishaps, but didn’t fancy ending up with puke down his back. Plus, he was rather enjoying their current arrangement.

Robin fell asleep on the train, slumping against his arm and resting her head against him. She made a show of snuggling into his shoulder, muttering, “Yer a good pillow.” Strike leaned his cheek against the top of her head, taking the opportunity to inhale the scent of her shampoo. It smelled edible, though he couldn’t place what flavor it reminded him of. It smelled sweet and sugary. She was still clinging to his arm. Perhaps this version of drunk Robin wasn’t so bad after all.

Robin was more subdued when they left the tube station and started down the street towards her flat. Presumably, she was approaching the vomiting stage of drunkenness, so Strike tried to hurry her along as best he could. 

“I have another secret,” she told him as they approached her flat. She dug ineffectually in her purse for her keys. Strike took it from her and pulled out her keys with ease. As he unlocked her door, Robin continued, “I went out with Al. He’s very nice. Not sure he’s my type, but he’s very nice.”

“Oh?” It was the only response Strike could manage. Part of him didn’t want to hear more of this confession; another part of him was rejoicing in it.

“Don’t tell,” Robin whispered, “but I only went out with him to make you jealous. But you can’t tell anyone that, especially not you!” She poked him hard in the chest.

“Is that so?” Strike’s heart was racing, and again he wondered if Robin would remember this conversation in the morning. 

“Yeah, but now I feel really bad ‘cos he’s really nice.”

Strike grunted in response, unsure of what to say, and certain that it didn’t matter anyway. He followed her inside, wanting to make sure she got to bed safely. 

“Are you gonna kiss me now?” Robin leaned into his chest and slid downwards a little. Strike held her by her elbows to keep her upright.

“Not right now,” he said, amused.

“Isn’t that what yer sposed to do after a date?” Robin gave him a wide mouthed, sleepy grin.

Much as Strike would love to kiss her, he could think of nothing less appealing at the moment than kissing this extremely drunk Robin who wouldn’t remember it, and who was certainly on the verge of throwing up. He walked her backwards, putting her closer to the downstairs toilet.

“Was this a date?” he asked.

“Mm-hm,” she nodded, then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Strike was frozen in place. He relished the feel of her soft mouth against his, but he knew he couldn’t let himself respond. That would be wrong. Before he had time to convince himself otherwise, Robin pulled back suddenly and looked at him very seriously.

“I think… I’m gonna go throw up now.” Robin stumbled to the bathroom, bumping into the door frame on her way. Strike tried not to take it personally that her first reaction after kissing him was to throw up. He could hear her retching and wondered if she would consider it an intrusion if he came to soothe her. 

Instead, he went to the kitchen to get her some water and paracetamol.

“Better?” He asked as he helped her up the stairs to her bedroom.

She just groaned in response, causing him to chuckle. After she flopped face down on her bed, he fetched the bin from her en suite and set it next to her, just in case. Then he placed a cool wet cloth on the back of her neck. He gently rubbed her back as he asked, “Are you going to be okay for tomorrow?” They had plans to exercise at her flat the next morning, as part of their “accountability buddies” pact.

Her voice muffled by her pillow, she muttered, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Then she grinned at him. “I’ve got one of those consti-const-… I don’t get hungover.”

Strike chuckled softly, squeezing her shoulder. “Text me if you change your mind.”

“Cormoran?” she called as he was leaving.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” She was already half asleep.

Strike smiled, and shut her door softly. 

Outside, he lit a cigarette and pulled out his phone, finally reading the text he had gotten from Charlotte.

**S: It was a mistake, Charlotte. I should never have kissed you. It won’t happen again.**

**C: Funny, I feel the exact opposite. You know where to find me if you change your mind.**

As he was reading, another text came in.

**C: Can we at least be friends? I don’t want to lose you.**

_Can we?_ he thought. _Is that wise?_ _Or do_ I _want to lose_ you _?_

He thought about his reluctance to delete Charlotte’s number, and how easily he had given in and kissed her. He knew it wasn’t really her that he wanted. Her wildness, her lies, her games, her family – it was all a reality he wanted no part of. When she had appeared in his office, all he had seen was her beauty. She had been an escape from his reality, which he reluctantly admitted he had created himself. But that was all he had wanted – an escape. It was easy to pretend the last couple of years had never happened; easy to get lost in the memory of passion.

But with that passion, he knew, came a whole host of consequences he was done dealing with. Their love had become empty and selfish. He didn’t enjoy being with her because of how she made him feel. He only enjoyed being with her because of what she could do for him. It was purely physical. He wanted more than that. He wanted companionship. How had Robin put it? _Someone I share common interests with, someone that understands me._ The only common interest he shared with Charlotte was sex. Admittedly, it was incredible sex, but he had a feeling he could find that kind of passion elsewhere.

He thought of Robin and her confessions this evening, her attempt to kiss him. It seemed it was finally time to remove the barriers between them.


	9. (Non)Hangover Cures

Strike was about to knock on Robin’s door at 10:00 the next morning when it suddenly opened. Tristan, Robin’s flatmate, was leaving for work. He grinned at Strike. “She’s still in bed. Looks like she’s in for a rough day.”

Strike let himself into the kitchen and dug through the refrigerator. Twenty minutes later, he softly knocked on Robin’s door and pushed it open. She was lying against her pillows with an arm over her eyes.

“Morning!” Strike said brightly. Robin groaned loudly in response, causing him to chuckle. “I thought you said you don’t get hungover,” he teased. 

“I don’t. I’m not hungover,” Robin moaned, causing Strike to laugh again.

“Here, I brought you my non-hangover cure.” He set a tray on her bed loaded with eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, water, coffee, and bizarrely, a chocolate bar.

“Wow, thanks. But I think you’ve overestimated my stomach’s abilities,” Robin said, her voice rough and throat feeling like sandpaper.

“Who said it’s all for you?” Strike asked, picking up a piece of toast and motioning for her to scoot over so he could sit on the bed next to her. Robin noticed now that two of the eggs were cooked like she liked them, and two were cooked like he liked them. She was ridiculously touched.

“Why the chocolate?” she asked.

“Because you need sugar. Sugar and hydration are the best non-hangover cures in my experience.”

“I thought you don’t get hungover either?”

“That’s why I said _non_ -hangover,” he grinned at her as he piled an egg and bacon on a piece of toast.

“Remind me not to let Ilsa give me tequila ever again,” Robin said as she drank some orange juice. She moaned again as she remembered. “Did I say anything embarrassing last night? Tequila tends to loosen my tongue. I have these flashes of things… but I don’t really remember much.”

Strike wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. Would it be easier, moving forward, if Robin did remember? He wondered how much he should tell her. He chuckled, “Nothing too bad.” 

He decided against informing her that she had confessed to not having had sex in a while. Best to let her remember that one on her own, if at all. “You did tell me that you went out with Al, though. Asked me not to tell myself.” He also decided to leave out that she had said Al wasn’t her type. Strike wondered if he should mention that she had tried to kiss him before throwing up. Maybe it was best if she remembered that bit on her own as well.

Robin groaned and covered her face again. “Oh, bugger. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out that way.” She looked at him apprehensively. “Are you upset?”

That was a good question. Strike struggled to identify the complex tangle of emotions he was feeling. There was disappointment, hurt, frustration, regret, and anger. Where that lingering anger was directed was another question; was he angry at himself, or at her, or at Ilsa for her jealousy idea that had led to this fucked up mess? Or was he angry at Charlotte for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

But there was also hope. Robin’s confessions of the previous evening had given him new life. He looked at her sweet face, etched with concern. All he wanted to do was kiss away the anxiety that now lined her brow.

“No, I’m not upset,” he responded quietly. “Al’s great. And if you like him, then he’s a lucky man.”

Strike couldn’t interpret Robin’s expression. It was an odd combination of frustrated and relieved.

“It doesn’t bother you, me going out with your brother?” There was something in her voice that almost sounding like pleading.

Strike looked into her eyes. There it was again. She was giving him an opening, but this time it wasn’t tainted with his insecurity. The question was, was this the moment? Now, when they were talking about her dating the only brother he had any sort of relationship with? Was this the moment to confess his feelings for her? What would he say? Beg her to choose him instead? Ask her to dump his brother? No, he couldn’t do that. 

But Strike had a plan. He had spent the better part of the previous night going over it in his mind, as drunk Robin had divulged a lot of useful information. He sincerely regretted not stopping her from going out with Al to begin with. That was now a line he couldn’t, or rather shouldn’t, cross. He was certain that under the current circumstances, Robin needed to make the first move.

Strike was determined not to be angry or jealous. He would not react poorly, as he had that first night it had come up. He would be the supportive friend. As much as he hated to admit it, Strike recognized that Ilsa was right. Robin needed to decide for herself that Al was not what she wanted. It was time to turn on the charm. He wanted Robin to see how they could be together. He needed her to see that he was a better match for her than Al, or anyone else. Perhaps Ilsa could help with that… But her meddling had already caused enough problems.

Recognizing that he would already have what he wanted if he hadn’t been so stubborn, Strike took a deep, steadying breath and released it on a heavy sigh. He patted her hand with his and squeezed it gently. “Not if it makes you happy. You deserve that much.”

Robin returned his pressure with her fingers, giving him a small smile. Her eyes felt watery; she blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized that he hadn’t fully answered her question. “Thanks, Cormoran,” she said softly. “And thanks for helping me get home last night. And for helping me with Spanner. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Strike laughed and squeezed her fingers again. “No problem. Actually, no, you were bloody awful last night. And Spanner’s a fucking prat, so I enjoyed that one. It’s been a long time since I’ve punched him, and I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if needs must. As for the cuddling on the sofa, it was tolerable.” He nudged her playfully with his shoulder. “So, can you handle some exercise today, or do you need more recovery time?”

“Let me take a quick shower. I’ll be up for it once I feel human again,” Robin said.

“Alright,” Strike said as he gathered the breakfast tray, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Robin emerged into the living room wearing yoga pants and a loose t-shirt and smelling faintly of lavender soap. Her damp hair was twisted into a bun. As she walked past him, Strike got a strong whiff of her delectable shampoo.

“So what are we doing today, coach?” he asked.

“Something light. I’m not sure my head can handle much right now.” Robin rummaged in a small gym bag that sat in the corner. She pulled out a couple of elastic exercise bands. “I thought we’d do the bum today.”

“Saucy!” Strike wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively. He had been hoping to make her blush – he loved it when her cheeks pinked – but she just swatted his arm and made a noise of impatience. 

Robin looped one of the bands around her ankles. “We’re starting with some hip exercises. Runners do them to prevent calf injuries. If you strengthen your hips, it lessens your dependence on your lower legs. So I thought it might help your knee since you don’t have much of a calf. We’ll do a monster walk first.”

Strike looked at her dubiously. His plan had been to go along with whatever she suggested, but he hated doing knee exercises. A traitorous voice in the back of his head reminded him that if he had kept up with the recommended exercises, he probably wouldn’t have as much trouble with his knee. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from grumbling. “I thought we were going to work out. You know, burn some calories, work up a sweat. That looks like rehab stuff,” he griped.

“Alright, you can use the ‘heavy’ band then, if you think it’s so easy,” Robin said, a little stung. She didn’t want to let him know how much time she had spent researching exercises for lower leg amputees.

Strike soon found that it wasn’t easy at all. He was definitely feeling the burn in his hips, arse, and upper legs. He was starting to sweat, and he had a feeling he would be sore tomorrow. Robin saw the beads of moisture collecting on his forehead and smirked. Strike regretted not taking the “medium” band, but there was no going back now. He had the feeling that Robin had them doing extra sets of these exercises, just to torment him. 

They did squats next. Strike had to remind himself to focus on the exercises and not Robin. He was very aware of her proximity; he could almost feel the heat coming from her body. Her neck and forehead were glistening faintly. He wanted to glide his fingers over her dampened skin. Actually, not just his fingers. He wanted to trail his lips across her collarbone and up her neck. 

Strike didn’t object when Robin suggested he use the back of a chair for balance. He was reluctant to contradict her now, lest she find new ways to torment him out of spite. He had learned his lesson with the elastic bands. Plus, using the chair put him slightly behind her, where he could appreciate the view. 

His rigid ankle made the squats tricky, and his legs and arse were soon aching. By the time they moved to floor exercises, Strike was sweating in earnest and Robin was looking quite smug. “How are you not sweating more? You look like you’re hardly trying,” Strike complained.

Robin grinned. “Maybe my arse is just in better shape than yours.”

Strike allowed his eyes to briefly rake over her body as he said, “I don’t doubt it.” Then he raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ll remember this when it’s my turn,” he warned.

Robin felt a faint heat in her cheeks as his eyes roved over her body. She was glad that her cheeks were already flushed from the exercise. When Strike looked at her, it wasn’t salacious or threatening the way most men did it; when he looked at her…it was hot. His gaze hadn’t lingered, but he had never openly looked at her like that before. She thought saw desire there. It was that same longing that she herself had fought for so long.

Ducking her head to hide her blush, Robin showed him the next exercise, in which she looked like a dog raising its leg to piss on a tree. Strike couldn’t help laughing. “That looks ridiculous.”

“Hey, this one’s really hard. You have to play fair. I’m going to do whatever exercises you come up with,” Robin complained.

“I don’t doubt that it is hard. You’re killing me here with this stuff. Doesn’t change the fact that it looks ridiculous. See?” Strike lifted his leg like a dog, causing Robin laugh. 

“We’ll just do a few. No one but me is going to see you anyway.”

“Yeah, but now you’ll forever have the memory of me looking like a dog,” Strike grumbled.

“How is that different than how you normally look?” Robin asked in mock innocence.

Strike resisted the urge to push her over and continued to grumble as he finished his sets. He was definitely going to be sore tomorrow. He flopped over on his back. “I give in. I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if we do much more of this. Please tell me we’re getting a pint now.”

“We just need to stretch a bit first. Then we can get a pint, even though I’m pretty sure that defeats the purpose.”

Robin led him in a few yoga poses. For “downward dog” she had to help him, since his false ankle couldn’t bend into the proper position. Strike nearly fell over when she came up behind him and grasped his hips to guide him into position. Then she helped arrange his leg so that he could support himself easier. Her touch was gentle and reassuring. And he wanted more. He had to keep reminding himself that he was not going to make the first move. Flirting was fine, a touch here and there, absolutely. That was all part of his plan. But he most certainly should not pull her down to the floor with him and kiss her senseless. At least not yet.


	10. Hair of the Dog

“So when is Spanner coming in to install the software?” Strike asked, setting a glass of white wine in front of Robin and dropping into his seat with a pint of London Pride.

Robin shook her head. “I told you, I don’t want to even look at alcohol for at least a month.”

“Well I’m not drinking it, and I’ve already paid for it. Come on, you need it. Hair of the dog, and all that.”

Robin took a token sip. “Is this part of your non-hangover cure?”

Strike nodded at her as he took a much larger pull of his own drink. “Doctor’s orders. Drunk up. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Robin muttered under her breath, though it was just loud enough for Strike to hear. He grinned at her. “He’s supposed to come by tomorrow.”

“Do you want me there waiting in the wings in case he needs a good punch to the stomach?” Strike asked with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“No, I’m sure you don’t need to punch him,” Robin said exasperatedly.

“Really, I don’t mind. Happy to do it.” He still had that twinkle in his eyes and a slight smirk.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that? Truly, pure evil.”

Strike responded with his best “I’m an evil villain and I like it” face, as he turned his head slightly to the side and raised one eyebrow at her, causing Robin to giggle.

“I never could do that very well, the whole fish hook in the eyebrow thing,” Robin said.

“We’ve been over this. It’s because you’re too nice. You have to be an evil genius like myself.”

“Ah, but can you do both eyebrows? Because I think I’ve read somewhere that only a true evil mastermind can do both sides of their face like that.”

Strike attempted the villain’s eyebrow on the other side. His whole face twitched and twisted as he tried, and failed, to create the mirrored expression.

Robin laughed, “Oh yes, that’s it. You’re terrifying in deed.” Still giggling, she pulled out her phone. “Here, do that again, I need to get that on camera.”

Strike obliged, attempting to make the face again, then laughed just before Robin took the picture.

“I didn’t get it, do it again!” she complained.

Strike put his hand over hers and lowered her camera, still laughing. “Nope, sorry, you only get the one shot.” His hand lingered on hers for just a moment before pulling back and picking up his pint.

Robin looked at the picture of a laughing Strike. He looked so happy and carefree. It wasn’t a look she often saw on him. He seemed younger, even though there were heavy crinkles in the corners of his eyes. She saved the picture under his contact info, so it would come up any time he called.

“So have you been practicing your RBF?” Strike asked.

“Yeah, how’s this?” Robin scowled at him unconvincingly.

“Not bad.”

“Liar,” Robin teased.

“Maybe try a snarl. Can you do the ‘Elvis lip’?” Strike’s lip pulled upwards as he wiggled his brow in a sexy smolder. 

Robin tried to copy him, but her mouth ended up more closely resembling fish lips. Strike chuckled and reached over to gently pull her lip up with his finger. “There you go, now you’ve got it.”

Robin’s stomach fluttered. _This is new_ , she thought. His finger was slightly calloused and rough, but she didn’t mind it. Hoping for another chance to touch, Robin continued the game. “Okay, can you do the other side?”

Strike attempted to curl his lip on the other side, but ended up looking like Robin’s fish lips. Robin took the opportunity to touch him, pushing his lip up as he had done to her. She squealed in surprise and jerked her hand back when his tongue darted out and licked her finger. She laughed as the butterflies took flight in her stomach once more. Wishing she hadn’t pulled her hand back, Robin hid her hand under the table, where she carefully avoided wiping off her finger. It was cool and wet where he had licked it, and she resisted the urge the press it to her lips. Strike’s eyes were bright with silent mirth, pleased with himself for making her squeal.

“What’s wrong with that side of your face, that you can’t do anything with it?” Robin teased.

“Hark who’s talking, miss ‘I can’t make any faces at all.’” He took another drink of his pint as he said, “I can’t wink that eye either.”

“What?!” Robin exclaimed. “Who can’t wink both eyes?” Despite her protests, she was now halfway down her glass of wine. It really was helping her headache, and was also making her feel rather giddy. “Try it, let me see,” she said.

Strike laughed. “I can’t!” He winked one eye, then blinked both at the same time. “See? It just won’t work. You do it, if you’re so clever.”

Robin winked both eyes in quick succession, alternating back and forth until she felt dizzy. “I can wiggle my ears too. See?” She turned her head so he could see her ears moving. “Can you?”

“Nope, not even going to try. Can you roll your tongue?” Strike stuck his rolled tongue out at her. He made a noise of disappointment when Robin was able to copy him.

“Can you do the clover though?” she asked. She stuck out her tongue and pulled in the corners, making a clover shape.

Strike watched her through lust filled eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He allowed his gaze to linger on her mouth for longer than he normally would have. “You have a very talented tongue,” he said, his voice deep and smoky, and carrying more than a trace of desire. 

“I have lots of secret talents,” Robin said. The way he was looking at her took her breath away, causing her voice to come out softer and sultrier than she had intended. Strikes eyes dilated as they dropped to her mouth once more. Robin blushed at her accidental double entendre.

Strike realized that he was still staring and Robin was looking uncomfortable. He dropped his eyes to his pint and drained the last of his drink. The mood had shifted subtly, and Strike was in danger of breaking his “don’t make the first move” rule. He asked if she was ready to go, before he lost his mind completely and asked to see her other “secret talents.”

***

“So who won?” Strike asked as they walked the short distance back to Robin’s flat.

“Who won what?” Robin asked, completely baffled.

“The facial talent competition. Who won?”

“Was it a competition?” Robin was amused now.

“Everything’s a competition, Robin.” Strike allowed his hand to brush against hers as they walked. He desperately wanted to thread his fingers through hers.

“How are we scoring then?”

“I could the eyebrow and the lip, which you couldn’t, so that’s… ten points to me.”

Robin laughed, “Okay, then I could wink, wiggle my ears, roll my tongue – though you could do that too, so I guess that’s a draw – and I could do the clover. So that’s forty points to me. I win!”

“Why forty? I thought you said the tongue rolling was a draw.”

“It was, but the clover is really hard, so I think it should count double.”

Strike chuckled, “Fair enough.”

“So what do I win?” Robin asked.

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that. I have some ideas though.” Strike grinned at her. It was that crinkly eyed, slightly mischievous grin again.

They were almost to her flat and Robin was trying to muster the courage to invite him back inside. She knew that after the looks they had shared over their drinks, it would take on a different meaning than just two friends spending time together. She fumbled with her keys at the door, trying to buy extra time. 

The opportunity was stolen away when Strike asked, “So I’ll see you Tuesday? It’s my turn to torture you.”

“Looking forward to it,” Robin said. Before she knew what had happened, Strike had leaned forward and kissed her cheek. He was already down the stairs and waving goodbye before her brain could tell her to reciprocate.

***

Robin sprawled out on her bed and reflected over the events of the day. Cormoran had brought her breakfast in bed. She lay next to where he had sat, the duvet and sheets still creased in the faint shape of him. She smelled the pillow he had leaned against and imagined that his scent lingered there; smoke, cologne, and peppermint.

He had looked at her differently today. And he had touched her more. A lot more. He was _flirting_ …wasn’t he? 

Robin wondered what all she had said during her tequila-fueled confessions. She had a faint recollection of something involving sex, but couldn’t remember the details. She had the impression that Charlotte had been in that part of the conversation as well. Maybe he wasn’t flirting, then. Or maybe she was just remembering it wrong.

Robin was also fairly certain that she had kissed him. She wished she could remember the feel of his lips beneath hers, but it was all a haze. Is that what had brought on this change and the flirting? Maybe Ilsa had been right about making him jealous… 

Maybe she should just ask him what all had happened last night. She picked up her phone and stared at it, then remembered the way he had looked at her when she made that comment about secret talents. _Maybe not…_

Feeling like a coward, she put her phone back down and buried her face in the pillow that smelled faintly of Cormoran. 


	11. Girls' Night

Robin regretted her insistence that she didn’t need Strike standing by to help with Spanner on Monday. The younger man had taken advantage of his role as “the boyfriend,” by being very touchy and flirty when he arrived at the office. Robin realized all too late that they should have talked about boundaries. She would probably normally enjoy Spanner, since he reminded her of Martin, but his attentions made her uncomfortable. 

Though he was very forward, there was an innocence about his advances that she normally would have found amusing and easy to deflect. Robin suspected that her discomfiture was related to her guilt over going out with Al. There was really only one man’s affection she sought. But ironically, she was actively pursuing the attention of another. Until she secured the only love she desired, every touch, every fleeting glance, every interaction with any other man felt like a betrayal. 

Robin had backed herself into a corner, and she had no idea how to get out of it. She needed advice. She needed a girls’ night. 

And she really needed to get Spanner out of here, before he got any ideas. She was already regretting agreeing to have lunch with him. Finally, the other secretaries left their desks, and Spanner was able to sneak into Mueller’s office while Robin kept watch. A few short minutes later, he emerged with a self-satisfied grin. 

“All done. Where are you taking me to lunch, beautiful?” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. Robin resisted the urge to wrench her hand from his grip. 

“There’s a café just around the corner.” Then, hoping to bring Spanner back into reality, she continued, “I’ll just text Cormoran and let him know you’ve got it installed.”

***

Spanner sat across from Robin, eyeing her appraisingly over his sandwich. They had chatted about nothing of any significance, with many attempts at flirting on his part, and now he seemed to be weighing his next words carefully. “So, you and Strike, huh?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Robin said hesitantly.

“Are you really together? Only I asked Nick about you and he said you were single.”

“Oh yes, well, it’s new,” Robin said.

“So he probably wouldn’t like it if I asked you out on a date?” Spanner grinned at her.

Robin made a sound of amusement and answered honestly, “No, he wouldn’t.”

Right on cue, Robin got a text from Strike.

**S: Is Spanner behaving himself, or do I get to punch the little git?**

Robin’s face must have showed her pleasure, because Spanner nodded at her mobile and said glumly, “I take it that’s from him?” Robin grinned as another text came in.

**S: Remind him of that one time at the Arsenal-Spurs match.**

Robin hid the phone back in her pocket. “He was just wondering how it’s going, and told me to remind you of a football match I guess you went to.”

Spanner’s ears reddened as he looked away, shoved the last few bites of his sandwich into his mouth, and said thickly, “Well I should be off now. Let you get back to work. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” He gathered his things and left with a wave.

Robin chuckled quietly as she watched his hasty retreat, then typed a text to Strike.

**R: You’re going to have to explain that one to me. I told him and he scurried out the door like a cockroach.**

**C: 😉 x**

***

“OK, so what’s the emergency?” Ilsa asked as she plopped on Robin’s sofa with a glass of wine.

“I need some help. I’m stuck and I don’t know what to do.”

“Is it Al?” Ilsa asked knowingly.

“Who’s Al?” Vanessa asked.

Robin’s face reddened. “Al Rokeby. Cormoran’s brother. We went out on Friday.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened in shock, then she laughed. “Jesus, that’s cold! What’d you do that for?”

“It’s all Ilsa’s fault!” Robin protested. “She told me I just needed to make him jealous so he’d get over the whole ‘we work together so it’s inappropriate” thing!”

“I meant with some random bloke, like that Ethan, not with his brother!”

Vanessa was shaking her head in awed annoyance. “That’s a line _I_ wouldn’t even cross.”

Ilsa chimed in, “You know if anything happens with Al, then nothing can _ever_ happen with Corm, right?”

“I know! That’s why I called you two over! What do I do now?” Robin asked desperately.

Ilsa and Vanessa turn to each other and rolled their eyes, then gave Robin a wry look.

“Obviously, you need to break it off with Al,” Ilsa said.

It was Robin’s turn to roll her eyes. “You don’t say…” she said sarcastically. “The question is how? How can I dump him for his brother? He’s really nice and he doesn’t deserve to be used like this. I feel really bad about it.”

Vanessa shrugged, “Just tell him the truth. Or most of it, anyway. Maybe leave out the part about using him to get to Cormoran. You’ve only been on one date? That’s hardly going to break his heart.”

“I concur,” Ilsa said. “Just let him down easy. Tell him you’re not interested but you hope you can still be friends.” 

“And then what? There’s still Charlotte to worry about…” Robin said. 

“Who’s Charlotte?” Vanessa asked over a large gulp of wine.

“Crazy ex fiancé,” Ilsa explained. “But you don’t have anything to worry about there, Robin.”

“ _Beautiful_ ex fiancé,” Robin corrected. “And are you sure about that Ils? I definitely remember him getting texts from her on Saturday.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s answering them. Trust me, Corm knows better than to go there again.”

Robin looked at her doubtfully. “Either way, how do I get him to come around? I don’t know that making him jealous is working.”

“Are you sure? Did you see the look on his face when you were talking to Ethan last week?” Vanessa asked.

“Actually, it’s weird, he was really _flirty_ yesterday,” Robin said.

Ilsa nodded sagely. “I’m telling you, he likes it. Gets him going, I think. It’s one of the games Charlotte always liked to play, getting other men to give her attention. He likes having the woman every other man wants.”

“I don’t know,” Robin said uncomfortably. “I don’t like playing games. That doesn’t really seem fair to him. That’s just not me.”

Vanessa shrugged, “Alright, then just walk up to him and say, “Hey, Corm, I fancy you and I want to shag your brains out.’”

All three women roared with laughter and Robin’s face turned bright red. “I can’t do that!” she exclaimed.

“Of course you can,” Vanessa said. “You have an amazing tool between your legs, love. Use it!”

Robin laughed and swatted at her friend. “You are awful!”

“OK, so what’s _your_ idea then?” Ilsa asked her.

“I was thinking I would just…carry on like we are. We’ve been getting a lot closer lately, spending more time together and stuff. I thought I’d just see where it leads.” Robin said innocently.

Vanessa and Ilsa exchanged another exasperated look. “Oh wow. That’s so hot. I think I need a cold shower now,” Ilsa said dryly, causing Vanessa to giggle.

“What about you?” Vanessa turned to Ilsa, apparently giving up on Robin’s less than scandalous love life. “Have anything better to keep me up at night?”

As Ilsa told Vanessa about how she had recently surprised Nick with some new lingerie, Robin sank into the cushions of the sofa and sipped her wine, wishing she were the kind of woman that could take Van’s advice. She tuned Ilsa out, not wanting to hear about the new toy she had bought, or about how the expensive lace knickers had ripped when Nick shoved them aside in his haste, or how Ilsa’s knee was bruised from the corner of the kitchen counter top. Robin copied Van’s expressions and laughed when she laughed, her mind miles away…in Denmark Street.

***

Alone in her room later, Robin imagined showing up at Cormoran’s flat unannounced. In her mind, she was wrapped in a long coat, which she threw to the floor when he let her in, revealing the sexy lingerie Ilsa had described. Robin sauntered up to him and asked if he fancied a shag, then ripped his shirt open and grazed her nails across his chest. She pushed him backwards into his chair and climbed onto his lap. Her imagination then became a chaotic blur of lips, and tongues, and hands, and skin as the faint buzzing beneath her sheets drove her into blissful oblivion.


	12. Dr. Strike

Strike sat on a park bench, doing a crossword puzzle and keeping an eye on Neglectful Nanny. He was starting to suspect that the father didn’t really believe the nanny was neglectful, but rather got his kicks from the surveillance photos. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that he had been gainfully complicit in voyeuristic kink for his clients. He knew that Robin didn’t like their involvement with those types of cases, and although Strike agreed with her on the moral ambiguity of it all, he couldn’t help but feel that there were worse ways these men could find gratification.

Strike wondered what the mother thought of all this. It had been the husband that had hired them, but how had he convinced his wife that a private detective was necessary? Perhaps the wife was in on it. Maybe they enjoyed the photos together. For all Strike knew, the nanny could be aware that he was following her. Maybe she and the couple were some kind of threesome.

A flash of red-gold caught his eye, interrupting his reverie. His heart accelerated as he looked up, but he saw instantly that it wasn’t Robin. Now that he looked properly, the woman’s hair was more blonde than Robin’s. Robin was taller, and much prettier than that woman. He looked at his watch. Nanny was packing up, ready to head back home. Strike had the sudden urge to see his partner. Perhaps he could still catch her. He sent her a text.

**S: Have you had lunch yet?**

Strike stood up and started towards the office where Robin was working. As he was descending the stairs to the tube, a response came in.

**R: No, I was just about to go out.**

Strike smiled, hopeful.

**S: Care for some company? I’m not far from you.**

**R: Sure. Meet me at La Parisian in 15?**

**S: 👍**

***

Strike waited for Robin outside the café, where he leaned against the low wall around the patio seating and smoked a cigarette. He was just stubbing it out when she approached, looking harried. 

“Sorry, have you been waiting long?” she asked. 

“No, not at all. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Whittely cornered me before I left. He’s getting impatient. I really hope we’re able to find something soon. Do you know if Al has found any of his invoices yet?”

“I haven’t heard from him,” Strike eyed her hesitantly, “I’m assuming he hasn’t said anything about it to you, then?”

Robin shook her head as Strike motioned for them to go inside the café. Robin turned and ran right into a man that was passing her going the opposite direction. The impact, combined with her foot landing awkwardly in a large crack on the sidewalk, caused her to stumble sideways into the patio wall. Her ankle twisted painfully on the uneven ground as her forearm scraped against the rough stucco corner of the wall.

Strike reached out to catch her, a second too late. The man that crashed into her hadn’t muttered so much as a “sorry”. 

“Oi!” Strike shouted angrily. He was torn between wanting to chase the man down to throttle him, and supporting Robin who was now leaning heavily against him as she simultaneously cradled her injured ankle and arm. 

“Leave it,” Robin panted, as she tried without success to hold back the tears from her streaming eyes.

“Are you alright?” Strike asked with concern, turning back to her and automatically wrapping an arm around her waist. Robin nodded.

His arm tightened around her as he supported her into the café. He chose a table near the door so Robin didn’t have to walk far. He went up to the counter to order sandwiches, not even bothering to ask Robin what she wanted. He knew she wouldn’t care. 

When he returned to the table, Robin was rubbing her ankle and grimacing. 

“Here, let me take a look,” Strike said as he pulled his chair around closer to her. Robin held her foot out to him and he took it gingerly. 

“Tell me if this hurts.” Strike gently manipulated her ankle, rolling her foot to the side and in a circle. Robin made no sounds of complaint.

“Does that hurt?” he asked.

Robin shook her head silently. In truth, she was too distracted by his slightly rough fingers against her skin and the fact that her foot was in his lap to even notice if she was in pain or not. Strike proceeded to pull her shoe off and rub her foot and ankle. _That_ she felt. Robin winced when he hit a tender spot near her ankle bone. 

Strike noticed. “Right there?” he asked unnecessarily. Robin nodded, then relaxed as Strike rubbed her ankle and up the side of her calf, following the path of the sore tendon. After several minutes of his gentle massage, he rolled her foot around again. 

“Hopefully it’s just a strain.” He put her shoe back on and released her foot back to the floor. “You have a decent range of motion still, but you should probably take it easy for a few days.” 

Robin nodded dumbly, her skin still tingling where he had touched her. Robin was immensely thankful that she had shaved her legs that morning.

“Let me see your arm,” Strike said, reaching for her again.

Robin held out her arm, exposing the angry scrape there. Strike cradled her arm, gently running his thumb over her stinging skin. Robin’s breath caught as Strike lowered his head and tenderly kissed the abrasion. 

His lips lingered there as he looked up at her and muttered, “Better?” His eyes were full of some emotion Robin told herself she was misinterpreting. The alternative was simply not something she knew how to deal with at the moment. Especially since she hadn’t broken it off with Al yet.

She nodded, but he didn’t release her arm. Instead, he lightly ran his nose over her flesh, inhaling deeply. 

“You smell good. Is that new perfume?” he whispered.

“It’s – “ Robin cleared her throat, “It’s lotion. It’s called ‘Endless Love,’” she murmured. 

“I’ll say.” His voice was low, almost an undertone. Robin wasn’t sure if he had meant for her to hear or not.

Finally, he released her arm as their sandwiches arrived. Robin worked to find her voice as Strike tucked into his sandwich, stuffing a large bite into his mouth.

“How are your cases going?” she asked, clearing her throat again.

Strike filled her in on his Nanny theory, Robin predictably raising an eyebrow in disapproval. 

“And the other one?”

“Actually going to Zumba, from what I can tell.” Then, hoping to redeem himself in her eyes and set himself apart from the more detestable members of his gender, Strike added, “The husband’s just a sexist prick, if you ask me. Still won’t stop me from taking his money, though.” This achieved the desired result, as Robin smiled at him.

When they had finished their lunch, Strike extended his hand to Robin to help her to her feet. She stood gingerly, hesitant of putting her full weight on her injured ankle. She found that it didn’t really hurt at all, but she didn’t protest when Strike offered her his arm for support, nor did she protest when he insisted on walking her all the way back to her office.

***

That evening, Strike was just about to text Robin to make sure she was still coming over when she knocked on his door. Even though it had only been a couple of hours, he was still excited to see her. Robin was once again wearing the tight leggings for which Strike was so thankful. He stepped back to let her pass, getting a strong whiff of “Endless Love.”

Robin, who had hoped that Strike would once again be working out shirtless, was not disappointed by his sleeveless t-shirt. Though she couldn’t see the whole expanse of his chest, the cut-off sleeves provided a good view of his sides with just a hint of pecs. The shirt made his arms look bigger, more muscled. Robin smirked as she wondered if he had chosen it for that reason.

“How’s your ankle?” he asked.

“Much better, thanks to Dr. Strike.” Robin grinned at him, causing his heart to stop.

“Good. I don’t have to take it easy on you then,” he said with a cheeky smile as he handed her some dumbbells.

Strike enjoyed torturing Robin the way she had tormented him the other day. It was obvious that she didn’t do much strength training, but she approached the exercises with the same grit and determination that she did everything else. Strike showed off a little, choosing heavier weights for himself than he normally would. But soon he found himself focusing more on just how far he could push Robin before she conceded defeat. 

With each exercise, she seemed to grow more resolute, refusing to show any weakness. Strike decided to take a different tack. He suggested they do a bench press, positioning himself above her head, acting as spotter. His ego purred when he saw her eyes dart intermittently to his groin, hovering just above her. 

As they did a shoulder press, Strike ran his fingers along the underside of her arms, lightly tickling her under the pretense of correcting her form. She giggled and nearly dropped the weights, which he caught easily.

“Hey, no fair,” Robin protested. 

Strike patted her stomach as he said, “You need to tighten your core. Lift from here, not your arms and you wouldn’t have dropped the weights.”

“Easy for you to say…It’s a lot harder when someone’s trying to tickle you,” Robin said dryly.

Robin stood for them to swap places, and suddenly Strike grabbed her round the waist and tickled her sides again. She laughed and leaned into him. She swatted at him feebly, not really wanting him to stop. He was laughing in her ear, his stubble scraping lightly against her neck. Distracted by his proximity, Robin stopped her squirming. Strike’s fingers stilled, but he didn’t remove them from her waist. 

Robin pulled back and looked into his eyes. His pupils dilated as he was pulled into the blue-grey depths of hers. Robin realized that her hands were pressed against his chest. She flexed her fingers tentatively, lightly pressing into his muscles. Strike looked at her questioningly as her chin tilted up a fraction, her breathing ragged and lips parted.

Strike hesitated, then moved to dip his head towards hers –

He had only moved a fraction when his head shot up, a reaction to the knock on his door. Reluctantly, Strike released her and went to answer the door, running a frustrated hand through his hair. 

“Al! Come in,” Strike said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his disappointment.

Al looked from him to Robin, reading her discomfort. She was looking away guiltily. The tension between her and her partner was palpable. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Al asked, looking back and forth between the pair.

“No, of course not,” Strike said. “I take it you found some invoices for us?”

“Yeah, this is several month’s worth,” Al said, handing over a thin folder.

“Thanks, we’ll take a look.” Strike tried not to appear crestfallen as Al strode over to Robin and kissed her cheek in greeting. Strike didn’t like how his hand had slid up the back of her bare arm. 

“Have you had dinner?” Al asked her.

Robin paused, then shook her head in answer.

“Wonderful! I know a place not far from here.” Turning to Strike, Al added, “Would you like to join us?”

Strike looked at Robin. She appeared uncomfortable, as if she herself wished to be left out of the invitation.

“No, thanks. I have a kebab in the fridge I’ve been looking forward to.”

“Shall we?” Al extended his hand to Robin.

She ducked her head, and smiled at him. “Sure.”

“See you later,” she added to Strike, giving him a doleful smile as she allowed Al to lead her out the door.

***

Strike had trouble falling asleep that night. He couldn’t forget the way Robin had looked at him as she left. _I should have said something_ , he thought to himself, but what would he have said? It could not have been clearer that she had wanted to stay. After her drunken confessions, Strike knew perfectly well that she was not interested in Al, but he also knew that she was too nice to directly reject him. 

_How far would her beneficence extend?_ he wondered. Would Al try to kiss her goodnight? Would she turn away if he did? What if Al _did_ kiss her? Would he, Strike, consider that a hard line that could not be crossed? Would he be able to kiss Robin, knowing that she had already kissed his brother?

He rolled to his side and angrily punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape. Strike reminded himself that it was a moot point at the moment. Even though he now considered kissing Robin to be inevitable, the moment was still lingering so far away on the horizon that is was no more than a mirage. 

His cock was begging for attention, not quite fully hard, but not flaccid enough to fall asleep. He knew that his situation could be easily rectified, and he could be asleep in just a few short minutes. But, feeling like a martyr, he denied himself, his thoughts on what Robin was doing with Al at the moment. 

Strike looked at his clock. Surely she was back home by now. Maybe she was thinking of him, too? Maybe she was lying in bed, begging to be touched by his own expert hands? Strike stroked himself absently a few times, then jerked his hand away, ashamed of himself for thinking of Robin this way.

Desperate for relief, Strike pulled out his phone and searched some porn sites. He watched a few short videos and pulled halfheartedly at his cock. He just couldn’t get into it. He was overwhelmed with that feeling of shame and filth that always accompanied the moment directly after coming, when the porn was still playing but was far from sexy.

 _Just once wouldn’t hurt_ , a small voice crooned in his head, trying to tempt him with visions of Robin. He frowned and removed his hand from under his sheets. Sighing in exasperation at his self-enforced penance, he wondered how much longer he could wait for what he truly desired.


	13. Seen and Unseen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is finally solved (not that it really mattered anyway). Both Strike and Robin get a surprise.

Strike was late picking up Robin from dance class on Tuesday. Spanner had called him right as he reached the gym studio. He stayed outside to answer the call, knowing the loud music inside would prevent him from hearing anything.

“Fed! I’ve got some good news for you!” Strike winced and held the phone away from his ear, as Spanner practically yelled into the speaker.

“I found a spreadsheet that appears to be your man’s banking records. It’s in code, but it looks easy enough to crack. Looks to me like he’s kept a record of what he’s charged his clients versus what he’s submitted to accounting.”

Strike’s mood was bolstered even higher than it already was in the face of sharing another evening with Robin. “Spanner, you bloody brilliant little fucker! I owe you one!”

“Can you get me a date with Robin?” Spanner had the nerve to ask, his tone joking but hopeful.

“I don’t owe you that much!” Strike was so relieved to have some good news for their client that he didn’t even bother to throw out some threats of violence against the younger man, even though he was trying to put the moves on _his_ Robin.

Though the phone call had been serendipitous for the case, it had been most unfortunate for his personal life. If Strike had gone inside the studio, he would have seen Ethan, the handsome dancer, approach Robin and hand her a card with his number on it. Strike would have seen Robin smile politely and put the card in her pocket.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have seen these things at all. Maybe if he had gone inside, Strike would have seen Robin beam at him as she collected her things. Perhaps he would have seen Ethan look on jealously as Robin bounded up to him and kissed his cheek in greeting. 

But he didn’t see any of these things, because Spanner, ever the annoying tit that he is, chose exactly the wrong moment to call.

***

“So are you going to tell me about the Arsenal match I reminded Spanner of?” Robin asked when they had received their food and Strike had finished telling her about what Spanner had found.

Strike laughed, remembering. “I was 17 or 18, I think. Yeah, I was 18 – Nick and Ilsa had just started dating. So me, Nick, Ilsa, and a girl I was with at the time all go to the Arsenal-Spurs game. Nick, of course, is a Spurs fan. Spanner talked him into letting him tag along.

“So the game is tied, been tied for a while. Then in the last couple of minutes the Spurs pull off a miraculous goal and take the lead. Spanner was so excited, he grabs the girl I was with and kisses her. I yanked him back by his neck and punched him in the stomach so hard he puked all over himself.

“Then the smarmy little git has the nerve to look up at her and say, ‘Was it good for you?’”

Robin and Strike both rolled with laughter.

“I understand why he scurried off so quick now,” Robin giggled and wiped at her watering eyes.

“What did he say when you told him?” Strike asked, still chuckling.

“Nothing, he just turned red and ran off.”

“I guess I made quite the impression,” Strike laughed.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

They continued to laugh and joke throughout dinner. Robin would touch his arm while she told a story. On every punchline, Strike would lean in towards her, as if they were sharing a secret. 

After dinner, he walked her back to her flat, which was completely out of his way. Neither mentioned that it was unnecessary or odd for him to do so. It simply seemed like the most natural thing in the world. As did the goodbye kiss they placed on each other’s cheeks before he left. Strike had grasped her elbow as he leaned in, and Robin had rested her hand on his shoulder.

***

The next morning, Robin practically skipped to Strike’s flat to pick up the file for Whittely. The papers she had managed to nick the day before were the accounting reports from Al’s invoices. What was submitted to accounting was significantly less than what Al had been billed. Combined with the spreadsheet Spanner found, it should be more than enough to satisfy their client, and possibly bring up criminal charges. Al had been excited by the idea of possibly being a key witness in a criminal case.

Robin was happy to close the case for several reasons. For one thing, it meant she could go back to _their_ office, where she could see Strike every day. For another, they had a large sum coming their way from the final invoice, which she should be collecting that afternoon.

Al had texted her to ask if she wanted to go out and celebrate that night. She certainly did, though not with him. She hadn’t answered the text yet, but she had planned to finally break it off. They had been on two dates now, which as Van put it, would hardly break his heart. Robin genuinely liked Al, but even if she didn’t have feelings for Cormoran, she would still only be interested in being friends with him. She hoped he could understand that. He really was a nice person.

Robin was so distracted daydreaming of celebrating with Cormoran that she missed her tube stop and had to double back. If she hadn’t missed her stop, her cheerful mood would have lasted all day. 

***

Strike had left the door to his flat slightly ajar, waiting for Robin to arrive. He was sitting at his table, finishing up his breakfast. His head and body hair were still wet from his shower. He had pulled on a pair of jeans, but didn’t bother with a shirt just yet. The fact that he hated putting a shirt on over a wet chest was only one reason he was partially clothed. He didn’t even bother to lie to himself about the other reason – he had thoroughly enjoyed being ogled by Robin the last time she had seen him without a shirt. After her impromptu date with Al the other night, he felt raising the stakes in this way was completely justified.

He was scraping up the last of his eggs when his door opened fully. He looked up, smiling expectantly, then released a sigh of frustration.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well good morning to you too, Bluey,” Charlotte crooned.

“Goodbye, Charlotte,” Strike said firmly, standing up and taking his plate to the sink.

Charlotte, of course, didn’t leave. “You didn’t ever answer me about staying friends. And then my calls stopped going through.” By her voice he could tell she was fake-pouting.

Strike turned and saw that she had made herself comfortable at his table. Angry at himself for making the mistake of not immediately pushing her out the door, he turned back to his sink and started washing his breakfast dishes.

“You know, most people would take that as a sign, when someone blocks your number.”

“Bluey, give me another chance. You know we belong together,” her voice was that intoxicating mix of soft and sultry that was so alluring. 

Strike didn’t answer, refusing to argue with her, in case that’s what she was looking for. His mind worked furiously, trying to figure out how to get her to leave before Robin came in. But, as fate would have it, he didn’t have time to enact any plan.

Robin hadn’t seen or heard any of this exchange, of course. All she did see when she walked in was the gorgeous Charlotte sitting at Strike’s table, and a shirtless Strike cleaning up at the sink.

Strike’s heart thudded uncomfortably as he watched Robin come to the obvious conclusion. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t it what it looked like. He wanted to tell Charlotte to get the fuck out. But then he saw the way Charlotte was looking at Robin. He saw all the warning signs. He hated the smirk that slowly slid into place on the darker woman’s face. He hated the mischief in her eyes. The only thing he could think to do was give Robin the file and get her on her way as soon as possible. He could explain later, after Charlotte was out of the way.

Robin watched in shock, not knowing what to say as Strike dried his hands and handed her the file for their client. It was obvious by his agitated demeanor that he was trying to rush her out the door, no doubt so he could finish his _cozy_ morning with Charlotte. Robin couldn’t help but glance towards his bedroom, where she saw the bed was disheveled. 

She didn’t understand it. Why had he been flirting with her so much if he was with Charlotte? They had almost kissed the other night, for Christ’s sake! And then the realization crashed into her like a tidal wave. Their interrupted almost-kiss. She had left with Al. She had thought maybe he understood that she wasn’t rejecting him. But apparently not. She had, once again, driven him directly into the arms of the beautiful creature sitting at his table. Robin had once again chosen his brother over him, and she had once again walked in on an intimate moment with the woman he had turned to.

Of course, if Robin’s brain had been capable of rational thought at that moment, she would have remembered that he had flirted with her last night, too. She would have noticed that there was only one plate in the draining rack by the sink. She would have seen the loathing on his face as he looked at Charlotte. But of course, Robin didn’t see any of these things.

What she did see was the malice in Charlotte’s eyes and so she desperately sought to rectify her relationship with her partner and his… whatever Charlotte was. Robin hitched a smile onto her face.

“Al asked me to a new nightclub tonight that his friend owns. You know, to celebrate closing the case. Why don’t you two come with us?” Robin asked, turning away from the dark-haired beauty to look imploringly at Strike.

Charlotte turned her smirk towards Strike. “You closed a case?” Strike looked at her coldly, but didn’t respond. He didn’t want to allow her into the conversation.

Charlotte’s head whipped back and forth between Robin and Strike. “Wait…Al? You don’t mean Al Rokeby?” she asked, raising an amused eyebrow in Strike’s direction. 

Strike was still trying to figure out how to end this conversation with minimal damage when Charlotte answered, “That sounds fun. We’d love to, wouldn’t we Bluey?” Strike inwardly cringed as Charlotte smiled at him, clearly relishing the effect this was having on him and the woman she correctly surmised was the competition.

Robin’s throat tightened upon hearing the nickname. She wondered if he liked being called that. She had always gotten the impression that he hated his middle name.

“Great.” Robin forced a cheerful tone. “It’s called Enzo. We’ll meet you there at 9? See you then.” And she backed out the door, unable to bear the _morning after_ atmosphere any longer.

As soon as she had left, Charlotte turned to him with a haughty grin and said, “So that’s why you haven’t returned my calls.” She always did have that uncanny ability to read his attraction to other women.

“It’s time for you to leave. For good. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear when I blocked your number, so let me do it now. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to be friends with you. It’s over, Charlotte. It’s been over for a long time.”

She sauntered up to him and tried to run a hand over his chest. He caught it and held her tightly by the wrist before she could touch him.

“Then why did you kiss me?”

“That was a mistake. The worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“You love me, you know you do.” Her tone was far from honeyed.

“No, Charlotte, I don’t. I don’t want to see you again. Not now, not tonight, not ever. Is that clear enough for you? Why don’t you go home to your husband and the Castle of fucking Croy, and let me move on with my life?” Strike’s calm had finally evaporated. He hated that he was playing into her games, he knew that she craved the drama and the fight. But he also didn’t know how else to get rid of her.

“Fine. If that’s really what you want,” she replied placidly.

“Yes, that’s really what I fucking want,” Strike said in exasperation.

“Fine. Goodbye, Bluey.” Charlotte tried to kiss his cheek, which he dodged. She turned and walked resolutely to the door, giving him one last look before closing it behind her. It was that same look he had seen on her wedding day; the haunted longing in the picture she had sent him.

Whether it was the promise he imagined her eyes held, or simply years of experience, Strike had the feeling that she wasn’t done with him yet. Charlotte never stopped until she got what she wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally went non-canon with Spanner’s age here. I was thinking he’s only a couple years younger than Strike. 😐


	14. Look What You Made Me Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets a little crazy at the nightclub...

Feeling that he really should have stayed home, Strike made his way to the nightclub. Apparently it was the inaugural opening, and Al’s friend, the owner, had reserved a table for them in the VIP lounge.

Strike figured he should probably at least make an effort to be thankful for Al’s help on the case. Plus, he was still trying to show Robin that he could be a supportive friend. Still, he wondered why she was going out with Al again. After the moment they shared the other night, he thought for sure that would be the end of it. But perhaps Robin also felt they owed Al a thank you. 

Strike had dressed in his best suit. Not being the nightclub type, it was really the closest he had to appropriate attire. He opted to forgo a tie, leaving the top two buttons of his shirt undone. A small patch of his chest hair was visible above the top button. Dave Polworth called it a sternum bush, and swore that giving women a peek at _his_ bush usually resulted in a peek at _theirs_. Though he never would have described it in such crude terminology with anyone other than his longtime friend, Strike had to agree, the “sternum bush” did prove to be fairly popular with women.

Strike gave his name to the bouncer at the door of the club and was shown to a back room that was only marginally less crowded and loud. Long strings of crystal beads hung from ceiling to floor in curtains, creating the illusion of privacy around the booths and sofas. It gave the entire place the feeling of being inside an overlarge diamond. The rest of the décor was understated, in charcoal, white, and silver. Colorful lights flashed around the dance floor, casting a surreal glow through the crystals.

Robin and Al were seated on a white leather sofa in a corner. Al was talking to a few of his friends. Robin was trying to appear interested, but kept glancing anxiously toward the door. She smiled radiantly as soon as she saw Strike.

Robin was wearing a rather short dress. It was a sparkly pale gold that looked gorgeous against her skin. She had on the highest heels Strike had ever seen her wear. She would probably be close to his own height. Strike wondered what it would be like to kiss her in those heels.

“Where’s Charlotte?” Robin asked.

Strike opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Lorenzo Ricci, the club’s owner, coming to say hello to Al and his guests.

After the niceties had been observed, Strike went to get himself a beer from the bar. Robin appeared next to him and flagged down the bartender to order another cosmopolitan.

“I honestly didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

“No? Why not?”

“I didn’t think you were the nightclub type.”

“I didn’t think you were either.” It was so loud in the club that they had to shout into each other’s ears. Strike was right, in her heels, she was nearly as tall as he was. 

Strike’s nose brushed against her ear, sending shivers down Robin’s spine. He could smell the perfume on her neck. It was that lovely floral scent he was so used to. Being this close to the source made him feel giddy and lightheaded, drunk on her alluring fragrance. He lingered for second, desperately wanting to trail his nose along her neck. 

Robin didn’t answer, but smiled at him as she took her drink.

No sooner had Strike sat back down and touched his beer to his lips than he saw Robin’s face fall as he felt a hand snaking across his chest. The hand moved as the woman walked around the back of the sofa and sat next to him.

“Hello, Charlotte,” Robin said politely.

Charlotte didn’t say anything, but gave her a snobbish smile in return. Strike scooted over slightly so she wasn’t pressed against him.

“What are you doing here?” he growled in her ear. Robin couldn’t tell if he was kissing her cheek or whispering to her. Or both. Either way, it looked intimate.

“I was invited,” she responded coolly. 

“Robin, how are you?” Charlotte asked as she lightly placed her hand on Strike’s knee. His leg twitched, trying to escape her grasp, but with nowhere really to go. 

Robin’s eyes were glued to the woman’s hand. She managed to squeak out a “Fine, thanks.”

Strike leaned into to Charlotte’s ear again. “You need to stop this. Now.”

“Careful, Bluey. You don’t want to cause a scene.” Her eyes and voice were a clear warning. Tonight, she was a version of Charlotte that Strike knew all too well. Tonight, she was the wild, reckless, dramatic version that tended to cause harm to both herself and others.

Charlotte turned to Al to ask after their mutual acquaintances. Having made her point, she gently removed her hand from Strike’s knee. Strike saw that Robin was already halfway down her drink and taking another large gulp. _This was a mistake…_ he thought.

Al and Charlotte continued as the only contributors to the conversation. Strike was too distracted by Al’s arm, which was resting behind Robin, and his hand, which was tracing little circles on her upper arm. Robin watched as Charlotte reached up and traced Strike’s ear with her finger. He twitched his head out of her grasp as Robin stood abruptly and announced, “Need the loo.” Strike watched with concern as she tottered away somewhat unsteadily on her towering heels. He didn’t notice that Al’s story had faltered, the latter seeing his brother’s attention drift away with Robin’s retreating figure.

Robin stopped at the bar on her way back. Strike got up and walked over to her, desperate to explain Charlotte’s presence and behavior. He left Charlotte mid-sentence, her words trailing off into nothingness, humiliated by the man that hadn’t paid her the least bit of attention since she arrived. 

The bartender handed Robin a shot, which she immediately slammed back.

Thrown off course, Strike asked, “What are you doing?”

“Having fun, what does it look like?” Robin sounded irritated. 

She turned on her sky-high heels and headed to the dance floor as Taylor Swift’s “Look What You Made Me Do” was playing. She made her way to the middle of the dance floor where she turned and looked him right in the eye as she started undulating to the music, making Strike very concerned about the length of her dress. He had seen several of these moves before in her dance class, but this time he was far from turned on. She was watching him, daring him. A tall blonde man came up behind her and started grinding against her. She didn’t step away. She held Strike’s gaze, her expression hardened. Strike’s own face was colored in anger. 

Al watched from the across room, the rest of his unfinished story forgotten. He left Charlotte sitting on the sofa and went to his brother. “Corm? Is everything ok?”

“Fine,” Strike ground out, his eyes still not leaving Robin’s.

Al looked from his brother to Robin and back again. “Is there something I should know about? I don’t want to get in the way of anything…”

Strike finally drug his eyes away from Robin and looked at Al, who was shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “No…” he said slowly on a sigh.

“But you want there to be,” Al guessed. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Strike said simply, dragging a hand through his hair.

Al nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, brov. I never would have… Look, nothing happened. To be honest, I don’t really think she’s my type.”

Strike snorted a humorless laugh. “I don’t think you’re her type either.”

“So why’d you bring Charlie?”

Strike snorted again. “I didn’t. She keeps showing up at the worst times.”

Al watched Robin still dancing with the stranger. Another man came up on her other side and grabbed her drunkenly. Robin tried to step away but she was stuck among all the bodies. The drunk man was now groping at her and she was trying to push him away.

Strike didn’t think. In that moment, all he saw was red. He charged forward, easily parting the crowd with his bulk. He seized the man by the shoulder, spun him around, and punched him right on the jaw. The man crumpled to the ground, out cold. The blonde man dove at Strike, landing a punch to his eye. The dance floor descended into chaos. Fists flew wildly, their owners not caring where they landed. A woman tripped and tried to catch herself on Robin, tearing the strap of Robin’s dress and exposing the top of her breast.

Strike tucked Robin under his arm and carted her off the dance floor. He took an elbow to the face and his false foot slipped, bending his knee painfully, but he managed to keep his footing. He led Robin down the hallway to the toilets. 

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly.

Robin didn’t answer. She was trying to hold her dress together, a small scratch on her shoulder where the woman’s fingernails had grazed her. Strike took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, covering her exposed flesh. He was glad when her breast was hidden once more. He didn’t like the way other men were looking at her.

Al rushed up to them and opened his mouth to speak, but Strike cut him off. “I’m taking Robin home,” he said firmly. Al nodded, still looking concerned. Robin smiled at him demurely, hoping to convey how sorry she was for…everything. Al nodded again, as if he understood. 

The door to the women’s toilet opened, and out sauntered Charlotte, looking rather pleased with herself. A man followed her out, buttoning his shirt. Charlotte trailed her fingers over Strike’s shoulder as she passed, giving him one last look as if to say “See what you could have had?” Strike paid her no attention.


	15. Good Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike takes Robin home after the disastrous nightclub outing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzMQu4zTtK8) song, by Gloriana.

> _I turned off the car_
> 
> _Ran through the yard_
> 
> _Back to your front door_
> 
> _Half scared to death can’t catch my breath_
> 
> _Aren’t these the moments we live for_
> 
> _And I kissed you_
> 
> _Goodnight_
> 
> _And now that I’ve kissed you_
> 
> _It’s a good night_

The cab pulled up outside Robin’s flat and Strike got out, offering her his hand. Neither had spoken during the ride. He walked her to her door, where she dug for her keys with fumbling fingers. When she pulled them out of her bag, a few slips of paper fell out onto the ground. Strike bent to pick them up, noticing that they all had men’s phone numbers on them. _When had so many men hit on her?_ Jealousy flared inside Strike once more, deepening his frown.

“You’d better come in and let me look at that cut on your eye,” Robin said. 

Strike followed her inside, limping slightly. She led him upstairs to her bathroom and pulled out a small first aid kit. She was still wearing his jacket. Pushing the overlong sleeves up to her elbows, Robin dug in the first aid kit and pulled out a bandage and some antiseptic.

Robin turned to find Strike leaning against the door frame, one arm above his head, his other hand in his pocket. Robin’s heart stopped. His entire body was an expression of the emotional turmoil he had been trying to keep from her; from his shifting feet, to the arm bearing his weight against the door frame, to his downcast eyes. 

She had never seen him look so sexy, so determined, as he did when he raised his head and met her gaze. His eyes were heated as if a fire blazed behind the irises. His burning eyes were disconcerting, yet she wanted to lose herself in their depths. He stepped towards her, into the small bathroom. Robin took a steadying breath as he leaned against the sink. She stepped up to him timidly.

“This is probably going to sting,” she warned, before dabbing some antiseptic on the cut. Strike winced as it burned, but didn’t pull away from her gentle touch.

She probed tenderly around his eye, which was starting to swell a little. “Does it hurt much?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered. 

“It looks like you might have a bruise here, too.” She lightly brushed her fingers over his cheekbone.

Strike covered her hand with his, pressing it to his face. His eyes had never left hers as she worked, and now he wanted her full attention. She met his gaze, her breathing shallow and unsteady. “Why do you have a bunch of men’s phone numbers in your purse?” he asked quietly.

Robin looked down, pulling her hand away to unwrap a small bandage. She didn’t answer him, but gently placed the bandage over the cut near his eye. When she was finished, he grasped her hand again, pulling it into his chest. “Why?” he asked again.

Robin cleared her throat and looked into his eyes. “Why, does it bother you?”

They both seemed to hold their breath, as the air stilled around them. The world turned slowly, frozen in time as he studied the liquid blue-grey depths of her irises. It was now or never. Both options were terrifying.

“Yes it fucking _bothers_ me,” he said in his deep, husky voice. He stood, leaning in closer to her. “I don’t want you going out with my brother, or anyone for that matter. I don’t like it. I don’t know who the fuck Ethan is, or Seth, or any of the other numbers you had, but I don’t like it.” He took a step towards her in the small space, backing Robin into the wall. Strike put a hand next to either side of her head, caging her in.

“Yeah? Why is that?” Robin had meant to sound self-assured, smug, and sexy. Instead her voice came out as a breathy whisper.

He leaned his head towards hers, his eyes still burning into her. Their noses were almost touching. “Because I want you all to myself,” he whispered back.

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes dropping to her lips. He was so close, Robin could feel his breath against her skin. “Now what I want to know,” he continued, his voice barely more than a growl, “is why you would go out with these other blokes, when what you really want is right here?”

Robin’s lips parted, but no words came. Slowly, ever so slowly so as to prolong the moment, Strike dropped his face towards hers, closing the gap between them. His lips lightly traced over hers in a gentle caress. Robin wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly their mouths were locked tightly together, their tongues intertwining. Her fingers were tangled in his hair without even realizing she had moved.

Strike steadied himself against the wall with one hand, while the other snaked under the jacket and wrapped around Robin’s back, pulling her tightly against him. Robin’s hand dropped to his chest, her fingers poking inside the top of his shirt. They deepened the kiss further, as Strike pushed her against the wall and pressed his body to hers. 

“Cormoran…,” she moaned against his mouth, driving him into a frenzy. 

He lifted her, supporting her by the arse as Robin wrapped her legs around his waist. Her dress rode up around her hips, exposing a sliver of satin knickers as they devoured each other. 

Cormoran pulled back some, attempting to come back to reality. “We should slow down,” he panted.

Robin nodded, but he didn’t put her down and she only tightened her grip on his neck and waist. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he captured her lips with his once more. Now that he had tasted her, he couldn’t stop. 

They kissed hungrily until Robin started to slide, Cormoran’s grip on her failing. He put her down and kissed her softly on the lips, then each of her eyes, then that sensitive spot behind her ear. 

“Do me a favor?” he murmured against her skin.

“What’s that?” she said in a throaty whisper, as she raked her nails through his dense curls.

“Don’t tell Ilsa it worked.”

“That what worked?” she laughed.

“Making me sweat like that.” He ran his nose across her skin as he had wanted to do earlier, inhaling her intoxicating scent. 

Cormoran pulled back to look in her eyes. He cupped her cheek with his large hand and gave her a crooked, crinkly-eyed smile before gently tugging her to him, tenderly kissing her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end.  
> Unless you like smut, in which case, stay tuned.


	16. Endless Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the smut! Fair warning, it's pretty x-rated.

Cormoran’s tongue gently probed her mouth, twirling with her own tongue as Robin began slowly unbuttoning his shirt. She was halfway down when he got too impatient and pulled the tails from his trousers, then tugged the shirt awkwardly over his head, ruffling his hair. As he tossed the shirt aside, Robin ran her hands over his chest, taking a moment to appreciate his manliness. 

His chest and arms were muscular and strong, but his ruffled hair made him look soft and touchable. She ran her hand over his shoulder and up his neck to his cheek, his rough stubble scratching at her fingers. 

Cormoran nuzzled into her neck, pushing his jacket out of the way so he could kiss and lick. Robin slid the jacket from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Cormoran’s eyes dropped to where her dress had torn, but he wasn’t looking at her breast. He bent his head to the scratch on her shoulder, kissing it and lightly flicking his tongue over it. 

Robin tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing his mouth back up to hers. She stepped backwards into her bedroom, pulling him with her. It was a subtle invitation, but he understood. He broke the kiss to look into her eyes. He brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheeks, looking for some sign of uncertainty. He found none.

As his tongue met hers again, he slid a hand up her side, where his thumb brushed over the side of her breast. She arched her back into him, pressing impossibly closer. Cormoran cupped her breast fully, gently squeezing, his fingers grazing her skin where her dress had torn. 

Robin pulled back from him. With the ghost of a smile, she slowly lifted the dress over her head. She held it out to the side and let it fall in dramatic fashion, with a cheeky look that said “come get it”. Cormoran drank in the sight of her, with her smooth alabaster skin. She was wearing a satiny champagne colored strapless bra and matching knickers. Her breasts were full and creamy, slightly overflowing in the strapless bra.

Cormoran’s eyes darkened and he made a guttural noise in the back of his throat. He reached for her, lightly tracing his fingers over her side from thigh, to hip, to breast. He bent his head to her neck once more, trailing kisses from her ear to her collarbone, his stubble scratching deliciously against her skin. He dipped his hand into the top of her bra, cupping her breast, her hardened nipple pressing into his palm. 

Robin dropped her hands to his waist, unbuckling his belt. Cormoran had been more than happy to let her set the pace since first kissing her. Her hands at his trousers was the final invitation. He led her to the bed, cradling her back as he eased her down onto the mattress. He tugged her bra down, revealing her pebbled pink nipples.

“What about Charlotte?” Robin asked unexpectedly.

“I was kind of hoping we could do this without her,” he grinned as he lowered his mouth to one of her breasts.

“No, aren’t you – “

Cormoran cut her off, “No, I was never with her.”

Robin’s brow furrowed. “But I saw you… and this morning, she was there.”

Cormoran pulled back to look in her eyes. “She showed up this morning because I had blocked her number. She’d been trying to get a hold of me and doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer. When you came into the office and saw… It was a mistake. A moment of weakness that I sincerely regret.”

His mouth glided from her breast back to her collarbone, fluttering feather light kisses against her skin. “Can you ever forgive me?” he murmured against her.

Robin wrapped her arms around him and clutched his shoulders tightly. “I guess. So long as you never let it happen again,” she teased.

“Never,” he smiled as he kissed her lasciviously.

Cormoran slid his hand down her side, over her hip. His fingers slipped into the waistband of her knickers, kneading into her arse. Robin made an encouraging sound in the back of her throat. Cormoran slid his hand around to her front, dipping his hand back into her knickers. His fingers brushed against the small patch of curls, then continued lower to her soft, sensitive flesh. 

His fingers moved lightly over her clit, and she spread her legs slightly, giving him better access. Cormoran’s fingers formed a V, rubbing up and down the sides of her swollen lips. He did this several times, before dipping a finger into her waiting entrance, causing her to moan. 

Cormoran removed his finger and spread the wetness over her clit. He circled it lightly a few times, before repeating the V move and dipping into her once again. He messaged her inner walls, eliciting another long moan. Robin tangled her fingers in his dense curls and pulled, raking her nails against his scalp.

He removed his finger from her aching cunt and rubbed her clit more vigorously, driving her wild. Robin was panting heavily. She didn’t realize how close she was until Cormoran slid two fingers inside her and found that perfect spot. He pressed against her clit with the heel of his hand. Her orgasm surprised both of them, as she detonated without warning. Cormoran could feel a rush of wetness as her inner walls fluttered around his fingers.

When her panting slowed into one heavy huff of air, he smiled down at her. “Did you just come?” he asked in wonder, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Mortified that she was already finished when he still had his trousers on, Robin blushed furiously and buried her face in his neck. Her hands fisted against him, torn between wanting to cling to him and wanting to retreat.

“Hey,” Cormoran said tenderly. He wiped her juices from his hand and gently stroked her cheek and neck. “Robin, look at me.” He tugged on her chin, trying to get her to look at him. Finally, she met his gaze, though she quickly dropped her eyes once more.

“Oh, baby, don’t be embarrassed. I don’t want you to ever be ashamed of anything we do together.” He cupped her cheek and neck with his large hand. She could smell herself on him. “God, Robin, you are so beautiful.” He kissed her lovingly, exploring her mouth with his tongue until she relaxed against him.

He grinned down at her. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said again. “I like that I can make you come. That was fucking hot.” He kissed her passionately, murmuring against her lips, “And I plan on doing it a lot more.”

Robin smiled, mollified, and pushed him over onto his back. “I think it’s your turn then,” she said as she straddled his legs and unbuttoned his trousers. Cormoran lifted his hips so she could pull them down. She fumbled as they got caught on his prosthesis. He kicked off his shoe, Robin helping with the one on the false foot. He smiled at her look of triumph when she pulled the trousers free of his legs.

He was reaching for his prosthesis when Robin’s hands replaced his. “Show me how,” she said.

“Just undo the strap and pull,” he said, amused.

Cormoran winced as she pulled the prosthesis free of his sore knee.

“Sorry, did I do it wrong?” she asked.

He smiled at her, “No, it’s just my knee. I wrenched it earlier.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Robin said with pouty lips. “Want me to rub it?”

Cormoran grinned as she picked up a bottle of lotion from her nightstand. She turned it around and showed him the label. It was the “Endless Love” that he had smelled on her the other night. Robin peeled the gel pad from his stump and warmed some lotion in her hands. Cormoran lay back on the pillows and groaned appreciatively as she spread the cream over his calf and knee, her fingers kneading pleasantly. 

Her hands moved higher, massaging the lower part of his thigh. Higher and higher her kneading hands moved, causing Cormoran’s erection to grow. She pushed his boxers up his leg so she could massage higher. By the time she reached his hip, his cock was aching and straining against his shorts. 

Cormoran watched in fascination as Robin pulled the waistband down, allowing his cock to spring free. She looked him in the eye and grinned as she slowly lowered her head, her tongue flicking out to lick the bead of pre-cum off the tip. Her eyes still locked with his, she took him into her mouth, as far as she could go. He brushed the hair back from her face, holding it behind her head so he could watch.

Every time he would groan or twitch, she would smile around her mouthful of his cock and hum in appreciation. Her head bobbed up and down until he couldn’t take any more.

“Come here,” he said. “Take your knickers off and sit on my face.”

Robin stood next to the bed and slowly reached behind her to unhook her bra, tossing it aside. Next she shimmied out of her knickers and left them in a puddle on the floor. Cormoran reached for her and she climbed back on the bed. She turned her back to him as she swung a leg over his head, straddling his face. 

Cormoran lifted his head and captured her clit with his tongue as Robin leaned forward and engulfed him once more with her mouth. He lapped hungrily at her, his tongue pushing against her sensitive nub. He grabbed her arse tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. He slipped one finger in and out of her opening, massaging her inner walls. When she moaned around his cock, he added another finger, rubbing her most pleasurable spot.

Robin alternated between bobbing her head up and down and swirling her tongue around the tip. He groaned when she sucked on him, pulling her mouth off of him with a wet popping sound. She cupped his balls, gently squeezing as she lowered her head again. He was getting close. Very close. But he also wanted to see if he could make her come again. She was grinding her hips against his face and moaning.

When he was reaching the point of no return, he tapped her shoulder and moaned, “Robin, I’m gonna come.” She didn’t stop, lost in her own pleasure. “Robin…” he moaned again as she squealed around his cock. Cormoran pressed his mouth back to her clit and pumped his fingers in and out of her, intensifying her orgasm. 

“Fuck!” he shouted, throwing his head back as he emptied himself into her mouth. Robin sucked him dry and swallowed every bit.

She swung her legs off of him onto her knees. Wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb, she grinned at him. “Oops. Guess I got a little carried away.”

Cormoran was looking at her in wonder, his eyes dreamy and soft. “C’mere.” He reached for her, wrapping a large hand around the back of her neck and pulling her in for a kiss. Their flavors mingled on their tongues.

“Sorry, I was hoping to do a little more than that tonight. But it’s probably a good thing, since I’m not on birth control or anything,” Robin giggled as she snuggled her head against his chest.

Cormoran rubbed his hand up and down her back, enjoying the way the top of her arse was just visible above the sheets. “Well I’m not that young anymore, but I have a pretty short recovery time,” he murmured against her hair. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Robin smiled up at him, “Why does that not surprise me?”

“What are you trying to say?” he asked, feigning offense.

“That you’re a bit of a man-whore,” Robin whispered as she tilted her head up to nibble on his ear.

Cormoran made an appreciative sound and squeezed her tighter. He turned his face towards hers, capturing her mouth in a gentle kiss. “Guilty as charged,” he murmured against her lips before plunging his tongue into her mouth.

Robin could feel him already hardening against her leg. She pulled back a little. “But I still don’t have any birth control.”

Cormoran grinned sheepishly. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

“You _are_ a man-whore!” Robin chuckled.

“What have I taught you, Ellacott? Always be prepared.”

Robin cocked an eyebrow at his presumptiveness, then got up to fetch his trousers. She pulled out his wallet and handed it to him. After he pulled out the little foil packet, he set the wallet on her bedside table. Robin smiled at it. Somehow, the sight of the leather bundle resting among her things was more intimate than the naked man in her bed. Or nearly naked, rather, as his boxers were still around his thighs. 

Robin pulled his boxers the rest of the way off his legs and climbed back on the bed. Cormoran sat up with surprising speed and grabbed her around the middle, flipping her onto her back. She giggled as he snarled, playfully biting her neck. Robin squealed and writhed beneath him. Just as it had the other night at his flat, their laughter quickly died, replaced by an intensity that took her breath away. They looked into each other’s eyes, trying to convey the words that neither were ready to say.

Cormoran grabbed the back of her leg and hitched it up over his hip as he kissed her. He ground his erection against her silky folds, wanting to feel her wetness against his skin before sheathing himself with the condom. He reached down and rubbed the head against her clit, making her moan. When Robin bit his lip, he very nearly plunged into her. 

“Cormoran, I need you. I need you inside me,” she panted in throaty whisper.

Never one to keep a lady waiting, Cormoran sat back and quickly rolled the condom over his length. He leaned back over her, lightly probing at her entrance, but not yet thrusting inside. He wanted to watch her face as he filled her. He wanted to savor every inch. Looking into her eyes, he slowly pushed the head inside. Robin leaned her head back and closed her eyes, her mouth forming a little “o”. 

Cormoran reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips. “Look at me, Robin. Don’t close your eyes.”

Robin obeyed, looking at him through heavy lids. As he pushed further inside, her eyelids fluttered, wanting to close in pleasure but she kept them open, entranced by his bed-softened expression.

When he was fully inside her, he rested his elbows on either side of her head, giving her a moment to adjust to his girth. Robin clutched his shoulders and started to move her hips against him. He began to thrust gently into her, matching her rhythm. His control shattered when she moaned his name, causing him to thrust into her harder. 

“Oh, God, Cormoran, harder!” she cried.

Cormoran sat back on his knees and lifted her arse to shove a pillow under her. Robin hooked her legs over his shoulders as Cormoran grabbed her hips and thrust into her harder. Robin’s eyes fluttered closed again, her moans becoming louder.

“Open your eyes,” Cormoran commanded as he reached a hand between them to rub her clit. She looked beautiful. Her hair splayed out around her head like a golden halo. A delicate flush spread over her neck and chest. And it was all for _him_.

“Cormoran!” Robin gasped, throwing her head back and her eyes involuntarily closing as she once again came apart under his touch.

Cormoran leaned forward, her legs still around his shoulders. He leveraged himself against the backs of her thighs as he pounded into her. Her long, high-pitched cries combined with her walls clutching tightly to him were his undoing. He grunted loudly, his rhythm faltering as he came.

When Robin winced, he realized he had been squeezing her thighs a little too tightly. He released her, pausing to catch his breath before pulling out and flopping over onto his back. He pulled off the condom, dropping it by the bed before extending an arm to Robin. She nestled in the crook of his shoulder, also breathing heavily. She smiled as he hugged her tightly.

They lay in silence for a while, Robin twirling her finger in his chest hair. 

Cormoran broke the silence by asking, “Are you ever going to tell me about Anthony?”

“Who’s Anthony?” Robin asked, bewildered.

Cormoran chuckled and pointed to the picture by her bed, the one Ilsa had given her of the model. 

“Oh, that,” Robin laughed. “Ilsa had texted me one time, asked if I was 'doing Anthony.' I responded with, ‘Who’s Anthony? Is he hot?’ She had meant to type ‘anything’ but it autocorrected to ‘Anthony.’ As you can imagine, lots of joking ensued, especially at the expense of my love life.”

“But why is he by your bed?”

Robin grinned, “Sometimes a girl needs a little inspiration.”

“Robin Ellacott: wanton sex goddess,” he teased. “Next time you need some inspiration, give me a call and I’ll drop everything to come _take care of your needs_.”

A memory clicked into place in Robin’s mind. “Ohmygod, did I say that out loud?”

Cormoran chuckled, “Yes you did. You also told me you hadn't had sex in a long time. You have no idea how badly I wanted to carry you up here and kiss every square inch of your body.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that. In the morning though, I’m pretty tired.” Robin snuggled back against him then blushed, realizing she was incredibly inexperienced when it came to dating. She had assumed he would be staying over, but now didn’t want to pressure him. She hurriedly added, “Of course, you don’t have to stay…if you don’t want to.”

Cormoran smiled and squeezed her, correctly interpreting her discomfort. “Of course I want to stay. And I’d like to stay tomorrow too, if that’s ok with you.”

Robin smiled and kissed his chest. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” she asked after several minutes.

“Buy more condoms,” Cormoran grinned and pulled her in for a slow, sensual kiss.


End file.
